


Determined Child

by TacticianMark



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: All friendship, Body Horror, Frisk abuses the reset mechanic again, Gen, I'm just writing this for fun, Plz help Henry, Undertale Saves and Resets, and because they're gonna die a lot, bless Frisk, but for friendship!!, prolly some:, tbd, uhhhhhhh no romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2019-10-28 03:31:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 31,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17779757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TacticianMark/pseuds/TacticianMark
Summary: Frisk, absolutely desensitized to any sense of danger after their experiences in the Underground, finds themselves in an inky situation. Determined to repeat their previous success in making friends and freeing innocent souls, Frisk makes a few leaps in logic that, while not correct, certainly improve the situation at this eerie studio.





	1. Setting the stage

**Author's Note:**

> Just writing this for fun. Probably swimming in mistakes, but w/e, I'll fix it up if I write more than 5 chapters. If I write more, chapters will be longer, I just wrote this while I should be sleeping and decided to post what I managed.

Maybe the True Lab had made Frisk a little too blind to potentially dangerous situations. Having missed their stop back to the mountain to visit Flowey due to a nap, the now-13-year-old (all grown up!!) had needed to seek shelter from the rainstorm. No thunder, not even cold seeing as it was summer, but they’d received flood warnings for that night and Frisk knew the bus stop wouldn’t be the best safe place. The plan had been to stay underground with their friend for the night, a backpack with blankets and both monster food and human food with them, but seeing an abandoned building in the middle of nowhere, and seeing nothing wrong with that, Frisk settled on that as an alternative. No point in waiting two hours for the next bus in this weather!!

Frisk was a smart kid, but sometimes, their experiences in the underground tainted their point of view on the surface. Without a second thought, the barely-teen yanked open the door and slammed it shut behind them, shaking the water out of their hair like Lesser Dog often did. Hearing the click of a lock on the door was merely a sign that a puzzle needed to be solved, and the flat sepia color scheme of the interior was neat. Truly, Frisk had seen more than enough of this sort of thing to know what was going on.

Obviously, there were friends to be made here, and dates to go on! The inky tallies on the walls were curious, but the smear on the floor was easily stepped over, and the words written easily dismissed. The one phrase calling the dog on a poster someone’s buddy was nice though, and Frisk immediately resolved to pet it if they saw it. 

Exploring was interesting. The whole place looked ancient, and everything was falling apart. There was even stuff dripping from the ceiling, and once Frisk figured out it was ink, they started leaving little monster soul doodles along the walls as they went. Everything was cute! They started drawing hearts on all the cartoon character cutouts laying around, messily scribbling flatteries on the walls near sadder messages, and stepping in ink to leave footprints.

However, not everything was cute. When they found the Buddy Dog, Frisk could have cried. Who would make buddy and then open him up like that? That was so mean! But looking at Buddy, Frisk figured he couldn’t have been alive; Humans don’t look like that, and Monsters turn to dust when they die! Or Melt!! He was probably a weird Halloween decoration put up before everyone left this place. Still, the wrench looked uncomfortable, real or not. 

Crawling up the Dog’s legs, Frisk, with a little more effort than preferred, wrenched the wrench from that open cavity, causing what was left behind to slump, losing some of its support. It was… kind of sad looking. Determined, the child grabbed the end of something sticking out of their backpack and pulled out a… stick. Their trusty stick, which they replaced the wrench with. A trade! But it still looked so empty. Was a stick really worth a wrench? Feeling guilty, Frisk rummaged through their backpack and decided, yeah, it was totally worth it and put one of the slices of pie their mom gave them into the cavity. Better!

Done with that, and the not-Buddy looking much more comfortable, Frisk pat the snout and hopped back down, writing “not” between “She’s” and “Heartless” before they moved on. Now Frisk had a wrench, and a puzzle to find! But where to find it? They’re pretty sure they've seen most of the rooms in this building, maybe it was time to backtrack, or get on some chairs to see if the desks had any hints! Curse being short.

Near the entrance to the building, right by the smear leading to the exit, lay the words “Don’t turn on the machine” and Frisk felt silly. Of course. They have to turn on that big machine!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk gets the ball rolling. Not much happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmm can’t wait to meet my boy Sammy tbh.

Frisk was good at gathering things! They didn’t know how putting things on pedestals was going to help anything, what kind of “god” was turning on the lights - they only half listened to the tape they found - but Frisk figured it was just some Monster magic. The cutouts of a cartoon character named Bendy laying around seemed to be some kind of Monster, or maybe a person just moving things around, because everywhere they turned there was another cutout that didn’t have inky hearts painted on it, like the one they left behind. Maybe this guy was the one turning the lights on!

Well, whatever they wanted, Frisk would do their darndest to deliver. It was weird though, hallways seemed to appear out of nowhere, and it was making them get lost! With a sticky cinna bunny in their hands, a large streak of black ink on their sweater from wiping off their drawing hand, Frisk searched and searched for the switch to raise the ink pressure to the machine. No idea why it needed more pressure when it’s already leaking, but that’s what it needed!

Still, the kid was sure they had visited every room in the studio, even the ones that weren’t there until later! Stuffing the last of the bunny in their mouth, they hopped up on one of the chairs in front of the desk they found the pot of ink inside, short legs swinging off the ground. “He was born here” was scrawled on the desk over a couple of old drawings of the cartoon character all over the halls. 

Picking up the picture with a slightly different smiling face, with a rude ‘NO’ note stuck to it, Frisk wondered if it referred to Bendy the character. Bendy was born here. They pocketed the cute doodle, minus the note, and sighed loudly, kicking the wall once.

There was a bang down the hall. Frisk paused. Kicked the wall twice. Two bangs. With a wide grin, they hopped off the chair, walked half way down the hall, and then knocked on the wall three times like a door. Further away than before, in the opposite direction, a returning three knocks came, and Frisk ran after it, stopping before every corner to give their correspondent a chance to get away.

Down the hallways Frisk was lead, sometimes back tracking, but the ever faithful child kept on keeping on, sometimes tapping out the 7 note call and response. Finally, down a hall Frisk was sure they’d been down a couple hundred times already, there was no audible response, but a cutout peeked around the corner. Excitedly, Frisk ran for that corner, almost sliding into the wall through a puddle, and found the room with a projector and seats, the cutout leaning lifelessly against the wall. Seeing it didn’t have one of the doodled hearts - and seriously, how many were in this place? - they dipped a finger into the ink they slipped in and drew one right where a human’s heart would be. At this rate their hand was going to be permanently blackened.

In the back, the one place they’re sure they didn’t look they found the switch, and a looping, whistling dance playing on the projector. If a little more were happening in it, Frisk might have stayed and watched for a while, but a few seconds, and they figured they’d seen all there was to see. Using the entirety of their meagre body weight, they pulled the lever down and clapped themselves on the shoulder for a job well done. 

Then stared as the floor began to flood with ink.

Up, and up, and up all the way to staining the bottom half of Frisk’s shorts, half way up their thighs. It sloshed thickly as they waded through the oddly lukewarm liquid, eyeing the machine they turned on as a leak gushed ink in ridiculous quantities. Was it even ink? It stuck to their skin more like Endogeny’s drool than like pen ink. They dragged their hands through it to wipe some off, vaguely grossed out.

It was probably just old and congealed, if ink does that. With the pressure back on, they should be able to turn the machine on now, so with painted legs and clothes nearly dyed black, Frisk doubled back, leaving inky footprints behind.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, surprise, reset number 155

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c

Frisk had laid on the ground for a solid minute after the fall. When the drippy Monster had reached a hand out, Frisk had merely blinked in mild surprise. After spending so much time with Undyne and Papyrus, a sudden entrance wasn’t all that scary, and since the Monster didn’t immediately try to FIGHT, the teen hopped up to the boards half expecting head pats. 

It kind of looked more like the Amalgamates than any other Monster they had met in the past, all melty and kind of hard to look at. It was all black, maybe made of ink, with a white grin and bowtie, no eyes as far as they could tell. With a terribly easy to see skeletal structure, it looks unnerving, and sad, like it had been left here with no way out, and no food. Which was a silly thought considering the closet full of soup down one of the halls.

Whatever kind of monster is was, it only stared at Frisk for a moment, arm limp in the gap between the boards, like it didn’t know what it was seeing. They knew it was somehow seeing, as its head tilted to follow their hand when Frisk signed an exuberant “Hello!”. 

Unfortunately, as the uncomfortable feeling of Endogeny drool started sliding inside their oversized boots for the second time that day, it glanced about before dropping out of sight without a sound. The child slumped, disappointed. No new friend. But at least that confirmed they weren’t alone, though they weren’t sure how many Monsters were in this place.

Making faces at the heavily leaking pipes, Frisk moved back into the halls, anxiously searching for higher ground as the thick liquid continued to slowly rise. While reasonably confident they could float on this stuff, it wasn’t draining now, and there was no guarantee it would drain in two feet, or five. No upper floors, no drains, the only thing they could think of to give it an out was the front door. 

This was an old building. Maybe if they kicked it really hard it would crack right open!

It took them until the ink was up to their hips before they finally found their way to the front door. Sue them, it was a lot less straightforward than the Underground! They tried to run at the door, but the goop resisted them far too much, and they stopped short, not sure they could do it without the momentum.

But then, the floorboards began to creak and groan under Frisk’s slight frame and heavy backpack, distending almost gently before they snapped, rushing ink falling through, dragging Frisk with it. It felt frighteningly familiar, and they could only hope someone like Flowey wasn’t-

They hit the ground, having only dropped a couple stories, which really wasn’t so bad compared to their fall down an entire mountain and under it. Frisk wasn’t even bruised, though they were now covered head to toe in ink from falling through it. It was dripping on their head…

Wading through the high-level ink, out from directly under the newly made hole, they made their way over to the shelves against the wall, taking off their backpack. They had to make sure all their picnic supplies weren’t stained! If this was anything like the Underground, they’d have to deal with getting their own food for a couple days, and this didn’t look like the kind of place that would have a shop that sells cinnamon bunnies.

Most of it seemed alright, the blanket Frisk had wrapped around all of their things keeping the food safe. The change of clothes at the bottom was done for, unfortunately, but luckily for them, taking them out saved enough room for something else, and they knew just what they would take with the when they saw the tape recorder on the shelf beside them.

\------

When Henry entered the studio, a little click of the lock sounding behind him, his grip on his “mirror” went lax as he groaned, eyes closing as memories flooded back to him. Every damn time he went through this loop, he only remembered either near that summoning circle or right at the front door. It was honestly getting tedious. 

Knowing there were no new messages waiting for him, Henry stepped forward to start this mess, almost slipping down into the cavernous hole in the floorboards right in front of him, in the middle of where he knew a golden streak would greet him.

He stared. Mouth agape, he gazed down into the broken floor, the meager light making it look just as inky as the floor around it…

“What the hell?” Lifting the mirror revealed nothing about the floor, but when highlighting the wall he knew had his tallies, his pulse jumped at the sight of a single, currently inked line adding a tally at the end. Under the influence of the mirror, it showed up bright candy red. His nerves couldn’t decide if he should be feeling relief as the color, or dread, seeing as it was too bright to be blood, and too black to be anything but the ink all over the floor.

Thrown for a loop, seeing as this was the first new thing since his 20th damn loop (the 47th time were he told Sammy his name didn’t count, it didn’t change anything…), Henry waffles for a moment. How was someone else down here when he was stuck in a time loop? Didn’t that defeat all logic in a situation like this? Not that he had anything to compare this to… Shouldn’t the only thing making any differences be the person the loop is being experienced by?

The 51 year old man (was he still 51 after spending probably years being chased around by monsters?) edged around the hole, keen on investigating before crawling down. Whoever it was, the ink wasn’t completely dry on the wall, so he was sure they had a little while to roam before they got knocked out with a metal dustpan. Henry knew his way around well enough to head straight there.

What he found was jarring, not only because it was all so new, after so long of nothing. Flirtatious comments, unflattering things scribbled out or edited, hearts both upright and for some reason upside down, on every single character cutout in the studio. Bright red covered the floor in footprints left behind before the ink flood, that were a little small to be an adult man’s, but maybe a young woman’s? Either way, everything pointed to this person who fell into his loop being young, innocent, sweet, and more than likely going to be eaten alive by this place.

While none of this was particularly off-putting, there was one thing that had him freeze, turn, and run for the pit to catch up with this person. It was obvious they had found the long since broken into Boris. They had to have retrieved the wrench after all. So then, what had they done with him? That Boris never moved, so

Where had he gone?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk isn't so sure this is charming anymore

It took Frisk an embarrassingly long time to turn the valve and drain the ink, but considering the last time they opened a valve flooded the upper floors, they thought it was justified! The “I always fall,” message on the wall had given them pause, scooping some ink up and writing a question in the hopes they could visit later and see an answer.

Down and down they went, draining ink as they wandered lower into the Studio. Weird that they expanded downward rather than upward; was it somehow easier to dig down underground than to add floors on top, back when they made this place? Didn’t make a lot of sense to Frisk, but they didn’t have much knowledge on how building a studio worked, so they didn’t dwell on it.

A few flights of stairs down and Frisk had another dilemma. The doorway was boarded up! There was no other way to go, as far as Frisk knew, so they’d have to figure out a way through. Too short to see the obvious solution, and too pacifistic to have used it if they found it, Frisk went about testing the stability of the poorly nailed in wood.

“The Creator lied to us,” and “Joey lied to us,” were nearly gibberish to them, black and gold dripping together and mixing, the gold making it hard to read the first message. With no idea who the “Creator,” was or who “us,” consisted of, they were easily distracted as the nail popped out of the old wood, one end of the plank swinging to hit the floor.

Yanking off the small piece of wood that was half held there by the large plank, Frisk figured that was a big enough gap for them, while still being small enough to keep its previous function, whatever that was. Backpack shoved through first, then head, then the rest of them, Frisk tumbled to the ground on the other side, glad upon seeing the ink leak that they hadn’t thrown their bag right into that.

The rest of the hallway was easy, climbing over the boards leaning against the walls and half nailed into the other end of the hall. Even the door was easy when they realized the wood was nailed to the frame and the door itself swung away from it. They just opened it and crawled underneath, closing the door behind them. It was like they were never here! Though their pants and boots were still covered in ink and probably left a lot of smears behind… Well, the ink seemed to just sink into the wood without a trace after a while, so that shouldn’t be a problem!

Turning into the room, Frisk stopped short. There were coffins. Coffins with golden names on them behind a summoning circle with candles and little else. There wasn’t anywhere else to go but forward, but… While Frisk could take anything a Monster can throw at them, they wouldn’t be able to handle much if there was a Human down here. Frisk was small, only just finally hitting their first real growth spurt under Toriel’s care, and refused to carry any weapons other than maybe a stick. A stick they’d left upstairs inside a Halloween decoration. 

Frisk stared at the circle. It was a Halloween decoration, right? 

Shaking their head like a wet dog, bits of ink flying off, they steeled themselves. While it was kind of creepy, there were plenty of positive reasons for this stuff if it wasn’t just an out of season holiday thing! Alphys had tried to fiddle with tangible determination and brought back the dead, doing a lot of creepy stuff, and that turned out okay! Everyone was pretty content with the end result! Maybe it was a similar case down here, and the thing upstairs was kinda like the Flowey of Alphy’s work and the cavity was open for a soul…?

No matter how they tried to justify it, the summoning circle and actual names on the coffins were a little much for Frisk, and they skirted around it, hoping to move on and pretend this wasn’t here. Maybe they could make a friend along the way who could explain things. Maybe this Sammy guy the wall said to greet? 

The door to the side opened much like the previous one, the gap under the planks large enough that they could stay on their feet, bending over to creep under it. Unenthused about how things were turning out, but excited to meet someone down here, Frisk wrote a little “Hi Sammy c:” on the door and started down the stairs. 

“He will set us free,” greeted them at the bottom of the stairs, candles, soup, and a… banjo(?) sitting on the ledge under it. Were there Monsters trapped down here, like the Underground? Was there a barrier like the mountain had, letting Frisk in, but keeping everything inside from leaving? That was a sad thought, and while still creeped out, it filled Frisk with Determination, startling them as they felt that distinct thump in their Soul that meant they’d Saved.

If anything could convince them that they had work to do, it was that.

\------

Henry was terribly concerned. He had carefully climbed down the hole, dropping into the room below, where the ink level had already been lowered. The tape recorder of the repairman was missing and on the wall-

“If you keep falling, why do you stand there?”

It was written messily and close to the ground, candy red in the mirror, and it almost sounded like this person knew what a time loop was like. Not that that was possible; if it was a common enough occurrence that he could meet them, there would be studies on this shit. It’s not like he could tell this person that the results were inevitable, and he’d be stuck down here no matter what choices he made…

Little candy footprints trailed through the familiar path from drain to drain and down the stairs, all the way into the room with the axe, which was… still there? And the boards were still up, however, the prints continued beyond, a smear on the lower boards.

Picking up the trusty, if old and rusty, axe, Henry swung it with practiced ease at the wood, breaking through the planks. There was ink everywhere in the hallway like someone had dunked their hands under the nearby leak and used the wood he smashed through for finger painting. He swears he’s going to have nightmares of it being a little darker in color when he has a chance to rest with Boris.

Smashing through to the ritual room with the coffins, Henry gave a wry grin at how the footprints turned on their heel and crept around the outside, always pointed towards the circle in the center of the room. Glad to know it’s reasonable to be creeped out by Sammy’s… hobby. 

He was really starting to worry about this person. Whoever they are, and whatever they’re here for, they’d wandered into a cultist nut’s territory, and the further they go, the more danger they were in. Just being here was terrible for them, but they’d have been safer sitting scared at the bottom of the hole in the floor than continuing on further down. Unless this was a new ink creation Joey made, and his ancient theory that Joey was doing this on purpose was true.

That was a bone-chilling thought, and he discarded it until he had further proof, not wanting it to lead to the inevitable “what if I had stayed at the Studio?”

Nothing seemed to have changed downstairs, not at first glance. The ink seemed to be fading from this person’s shoes, reaching the manic cultist recording before moving into another part of the room, gone by the time they reached the center. The one thing that had very much changed in the room?

When he pressed play on the recording, nothing happened. No sound, nothing. Because the tape had been removed from its casing, brought along by the hands that took the player Thomas Conner’s recording was in.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk throws caution to the wind, and Henry rushes a little too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sammy's hard to write for lol guess I like him too much

Frisk knew it was a good idea to keep one of the recorders with them. The new tape was something they wouldn’t have found, being so short, without the assistance of that golden scrawl on the walls. Bright and big and underlined, the word “Deceived” stood out starkly in the dark room, letting the child know without a doubt, that the person who would be speaking in this recording was someone who had been betrayed and lied to.

They had popped it out of its casing, pulled out the one they brought with them, and replaced tapes, hopping off the chair they climbed into to listen on the go. Frisk wasn’t totally comfortable at this point standing around listening to someone talk, not when there were 5 coffins across the last two rooms they’d seen and magic circles everywhere.

Undyne mentioned that some humans could use magic, they just hoped that was the case here, and someone was just doing something really cool. Monsters were still ideal, cause they knew how to win a Fight with any Monster. 

"He appears from the shadows to rain his sweet blessings upon me. The figure of ink that shines in the darkness. I see you, my savior. I pray you hear me.” A reverent voice came from the tape as Frisk wandered out of the room, lamenting the lack of wet ink on their fingers when they saw another Bendy cutout against the wall. They didn’t want to go back though.

“Those old songs, yes, I still sing them. For I know you are coming to save me. And I will be swept into your final loving embrace. But, love requires sacrifice. Can I get an amen?" Frisk almost dipped their fingers in the ink at the end of the hall to continue their pattern of cutout painting, but stopped short at the sight through the doorway, the ink flooding the corridor nearly a foot high. Were they going to have to wade through that?

A voice, outside of the recording, sounded out as the tape stopped playing. “I said, can I get an… amen…?” There, through the doorway, was what looked like a man, bathed in this weird thick ink, with suspenders and a Bendy mask on, having stopped walking with one foot still raised. 

They stared at one another for a long moment, not sure what exactly they were looking at, before Frisk gave a shaky smile and a small wave, grip tight on the strap of their backpack. He waved back, looking around him and walked away from the door hurriedly, Frisk’s face falling in disappointment.

“Now, what is a little lamb like you doing all the way down here?” Frisk’s pulse jumped, the child spinning in place to see the ink-man walking out of the magic circle on the wall. They cupped their hands downward and rolled them, asking an exuberant ‘How’, forgetting for a moment that people outside of their found family didn’t gain meaning from intent.

The man tilted his head slightly, tapping the edge of his mask. “I must apologize, the language you are using escapes me at the moment.” Frisk repeated, signing the three letters individually, screaming the question in their head. Papyrus always said that hearing the intent was easier than hearing the question, so if this guy was a Monster, this should work. “How? That is hardly important. Not nearly as important as what one so small is doing in a place like this.”

It took too long to finger-spell in full sentences, so Frisk opted for keywords, signing ‘rain’, ‘shelter’, ‘puzzles’, and ‘stuck’ to the strange monster-man. He nodded along, crouching after the first few letters to get a better view of the child’s stained hands. Really, once you looked at him, he didn’t look much different from a human with four fingers, and Frisk wished it put them at ease. It would probably be better, at this time in their life, if he was a one-eyed gremlin. Maybe they can pretend he didn’t likely have a human face under the mask…

When Frisk finished, he was silent for a moment longer. “So, you are trapped here as well… There is no escaping this place, little one, but soon, our Lord will free us. Come, I will bring you to my sanctuary where we can figure out what to do with you.” He offered his dripping hand. “I should be able to travel through the studio with one so slight.”

Frisk almost hesitated in taking the hand, but ran through their head all the seemingly dangerous hands they’d held in the past, Grillby, being made of fire, standing out and convincing them it would be fine. And it was fine, if a little wet, and they smiled at him. Frisk pretended not to hear him contemplating whether he could get away with sacrificing a child. It’d just reset them anyways, and they couldn’t figure out how to be his friend if they didn’t spend time with him.

Besides, his hand felt as far from being human as it could be while still being a hand. It was comforting.

 

\--------

 

He’d lost them. Wherever this person went, he couldn’t find them, the footprints ended and the path to the music department still closed off. When he walked through the flooded hall, Sammy was nowhere to be seen, sending a shiver up his spine. Was he sacrificing them while he lagged behind? He didn’t think he was too far behind them, were they still roaming, and for some reason closed the shutter door behind them? They’d closed every other door…

Henry would just have to keep moving. There weren’t many other options in the first place. A few switched flipped had him in the music department, and he didn’t dawdle, switching on the lights and hefting his axe to kill the searchers. It was business as usual, the mindless creatures disappearing with one practiced drop of the dull blade.

Faster than he’d ever done this before, Henry went straight for the keys in the trash, making a beeline for the closet. For some reason, every time he did this, the sequence was different, instruments played in different ways every time. It was one of the few things he’d never quite figured out. It was, after all, something Sammy had done before the ink machine disaster, years ago.

He tapped his foot impatiently, not wanting to wait for the recording to finish playing, so he took a leaf out of red ink’s book, taking the recorder with him on his way up to the Projector’s booth. Banjo, Drum, Drum, Piano. He left it next to Norman’s recording. 

And that was that. It was always straightforward getting into Sammy’s sanctuary once you knew how. Henry was surprised Norman hadn’t figured it out back in the day… well, as far as he knew. Norman might be stuck skulking around now, but if he was keen on learning secrets in the dark as a man, then he can’t imagine the Projectionist not finding out about it.

The shutter opened slowly, raising up after he played a high note on the piano. Henry ducked under as it lifted, trotting around to where the valve and another pentagram sat under a stool on the floor……

A stool which a little kid sat, fiddling with a banjo, booted feet swinging off the ground.

**Clang** _“Ugh!” _**Thud**__


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for character death, and not just the one that usually happens. Nothing too graphic just yet tho.
> 
> Henry caught up to Frisk, now Frisk has to catch up to Henry.

Ink travel was weird. Not unpleasant weird, just… weird. Like walking through, or rather, being pulled through two feet of unpleasant smelling jello. It did leave goopy strings of black in their hair, and an unpleasant taste in their mouth, but it wasn’t so bad, especially when it was practically teleporting!

The ink man, Sammy they supposed, considering his response to hearing the tape with that name on it, had lead Frisk to a room they would hardly call a sanctuary unless it was for some reason safer than the rest of the building. Pipes lined one side of the wall, a label saying “Flow” over the wheel in the center. With a toilet, as well as a desk and stool, it looked like a bathroom someone had changed into a private workspace. Of course, on the floor was a summoning circle, which they came out of. Suddenly they were a little less creepy to the child.

Safely on the other side, Sammy released Frisk’s hand and gestured for them to take the stool, which they did, eyeing the writing on the wall. It wasn’t the first pure black text they had seen, but seeing it in this ink man’s safe place made it obvious who it belonged to.

“Rest, lamb, you must be tired.” He spoke, leaning over a pick a book up off the floor. “You may stay here until we decide what will be done with you.”

Frisk made a face at that but accepted the book when it was handed to them, glancing between the cover and the toy on the desk. It looked kind of familiar, not just as the cartoon character they remembered watching a long time ago, or from the cutouts upstairs, or from Sammy’s grinning mast, or even from- oh! That was it. The smile was the same as the goopy monster they saw upstairs!

Huh, seems like every monster in this place was themed to match the studio.

Reaching out, Frisk tugged on the strap of Ink-man maybe-Sammy’s suspenders, curious. “What is it?” H-U-M-A-N they finger spelled, pointing to him with a tilt of their head. They had to know! He didn’t look entirely human, but other than skeletons, and people made of fire, they’d never seen a monster quite so human.

He was silent for a long moment, contemplating, before he half answered, slowly, almost like he wasn’t sure of the answer himself. “We were all, before the ink… but no, he will set us free soon, and then it will hardly matter. I merely need an offering.” He gave Frisk an uncomfortably considering look before shaking head. “Entertain yourself, I have... work to do downstairs.”

He had sunk through the floor before Frisk could ask another question, not at all happy with where things had been left. Before the ink? Who was ‘we’? If there was no escape, how would they be set free? Round and round their head questions flew, and they knew they had been very wrong to think they’d seen everything the world had to offer in the Underground.

Already bored, Frisk looked around for something to do, eventually trading the book for the banjo leaning against the desk. It was a lot bigger than they thought a banjo would be, so maybe it wasn’t a banjo, but it made a nice sound when plucked.

A loud sound came from around the corner, metal on metal, and Frisk wondered what on earth Sammy was doing. They didn’t know what was around that corner, but they were curious enough to go check it out once the sound stopped.

Before it did, something came around the corner and paused. Frisk stared.

A skinny middle-aged man, with a greying brown undercut that got away from him, and short scruffy stubble, stared back, his bowtie, suspenders, and white shirt considerably less ink-stained than Frisk’s… everything. He was very distinctly human, the axe in his hand making Frisk’s grip on the banjo tighten. They didn’t know how to defend themselves from a human!

And they didn’t have to, as Sammy appeared behind him, swinging a metal dustpan at his skull with a solid **Clang!** He fell to the ground, luckily for him not on the axe he dropped. “Ah, it seems I have been freed of my moral dilemma.” Sammy sounded delighted, bending at the waist to grasp the man’s ankles. “Come, lamb, and bring the axe. I will teach you the ways of our Lord Bendy.”

Frisk hesitated, concerned for the man. What if he had a concussion? What did Sammy need from the man that he had to knock him out? The word ‘Sacrifice’ echoed through their head, and Frisk had to wonder if they needed human souls to escape as well. If it was the same barrier, they knew how to work with that!

Stepping over the axe, they put a hand on Sammy’s arm, trying to tell him not to do what they think he’s about to do with a shake of their head. He sighed. “Still so naive. Very well, I cannot take both of you through the ink, but if you are not coming, that works just fine for me.” Oh, oh no.

Sammy picked Frisk up by the back of their sweater, dragging them along and tossing them outside the sanctuary. When they got up and whirled around, storming back in on their little legs, Sammy was already gone, the old man with him.

Panic started to settle in. It had been a long time since they’d seen anyone (other than themselves) die, and never someone human. Why didn’t Sammy just challenge him to a Fight here and then deal with the soul? Did he not know how? Undyne had taught Frisk, who, as a human, could only do it due to having an innate magical affinity. 

Gathering their courage, careful not to Save here, Frisk dropped their backpack to the ground, running as fast as their little legs could carry them around the studio. The infirmary was flooded, the office blocked off, and while they found a couple more recordings, They were certainly too busy to take any with them. Frisk had to figure out where they are, and where to go to catch up. What had the old man been in that room for? Where would- Down the stairs.

_Sammy had work to do downstairs!_

When the reached the top of the stairs, it was wet with ink, recently drained from being flooded. They’d wasted enough time. If Sammy had no preparations to make, he’d probably be done already! 

Almost tumbling down the stairs, Frisk shoved open the door labeled “exit” at the bottom open, finding a long room with an intercom on a table, right next to another door.

It opened, Sammy walking through, and seeing the man from earlier in the next room, Frisk shoved past the ink-man. They were relieved to see he was still in one piece, but who knew about that head wound with how he couldn’t stop staring at Frisk. He was tied to a pillar at the front of the room, rope burns already forming over pale skin from struggling.

They didn’t have the knife. They should have brought the knife. Sans had their knife. Frisk turned back to try and convince Sammy not to do whatever he was going to do, hands already flying through signs he might not understand, but the door had been closed behind them.

“I tried to spare you, little lamb…” Was Mercy so fragile in this place? “Sheep, sheep, sheep, it’s time for sleep…”

“Kid, hey kid,” They turned teary eyes up at the man. “We’ll be fine, just help me out, okay?” He flexed his arms against the bindings to get the point across, Frisk nodding frantically and moving over to tug at the bindings. “Calm down, ignore Sammy, I’m gonna get you out of here, okay? What’s your name?”

Frisk didn’t - couldn’t - answer, even if they didn’t hear the fanatical calls of the prophet through the intercom, the shutter door on the other side of the room slowly opening. “Hear me, Bendy! Arise from the darkness! Arise and claim my offering! Free me! I beg you! I summon you, ink demon! Show your face and take these tender sheep!”

There was silence, for a brief moment, before Frisk untied the man, just as a deafening bang and a spine chilling roar sounded in the room Sammy was in. “No! My lord! Stay back! I am your prophet! I am your-” The man shot forward, grabbing the discarded ace not far away, as a scream of agony, not fear, came over the speakers.

Frisk hadn’t heard a sound like that in what feels like an eternity, and they watched, petrified, as ink spread under the door like blo- _Endogeny drool._ They shook their head, there wasn’t time for this. They made for the other human, only to gag as they saw him lop the head off of a monster of ink. The creature merely melted, rejoining the puddle it came from, and Frisk hoped that meant they were fine and they weren’t about to run off with another murderer.

“This way.” He beckoned to them, moving forward and hacking at the boards in their way. “Just stay close, okay kid?” He sounded oddly calm for a man someone had just attempted to sacrifice, but Frisk wasn’t about to turn down the safety of being the man’s shadow until they got away from the in leaking between the boards on the walls and floor. 

Straight down the hall to an inky corridor, they ran until Henry’s axe shattered and he turned to Frisk. “Don’t be scared, okay? We’re going to have to run as fast as we can.” They didn’t know what he was talking about, but be it from the delay due to Frisk’s shorter legs, or something else, they weren’t really paying much attention anyway as their eyes locked on the bubbling ink.

From the pool behind the old man, the fleshless, dripping, grinning figure from the first floor rose, one gloved hand reaching out to him. Scared but determined, Frisk shoved under the man’s arm, standing between him and the Monster, and challenged the Monster to a Fight!

… But nothing happened. 

That white hand moved forward, almost gently laying on a shell shocked Frisk’s head, and-

**CRUNCH**

Frisk’s hands flew into their hair, breath caught in their chest as their brain caught up to what happened. The words “He will set us free,” loomed over them, their fingers pressing into where the… the _souless_ Monster had gripped. They had to be soulless, Monsters without a soul could only initiate a Fight, seeing as there is no soul for the attacker to strike.

It looks like Frisk had a lot of work to do, starting with Sammy and the old man. At least an instant death like that didn’t hurt quite as much as having their HP whittled down to nothing…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably start slowly widdling away at rewriting the first couple chapters since we did hit 5, like I thought I wouldn't haha


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk makes plans and Henry is hung up on child death, like the rest of us.

Henry’s legs folded under himself, the sound of a child’s skull being crushed under the hand of his creation resonating through his head. Everything had happened so fast, so rushed, half of the puzzles hadn’t even been done before Sammy knocked him out. But the child… just a child in oversized boots, not a young adult at the very least, and now they were-

Shiny red boot marks shone up at him from the floor, Bendy nowhere to be found, and the sea of ink he came from gone. Hell, he wasn’t even in a corridor! He was back, just below the hole from the first floor. That was new. That was different. Was he going crazy, finally? 

Henry’s head turned, eyeing the text “If you keep falling, why do you stand there?” and remember the passing thought that went through his mind when he first saw it. This person knew what a loop was like. This person had started a loop from this point forward, and now the first section of this hell hole was forever locked out of the loop. Right? That had to be it.

Henry briefly mourned the peace and quiet of the first section of the loop, the few times he remembered everything as he entered the building, were the only peaceful moments he got outside of Boris’s safehouse. Then, he realized, that this was something new, something different, and maybe he could finally figure out what the hell was going on, outside of theorizing. 

First thing’s first, however, he needed to catch up to the kid, and quick, before they ran into Sammy again. He didn’t know if they’d remember everything or not (a large part of him hoped not, dying wasn’t a great experience, even for an adult) or if they’d managed to get ahead with the extra moments it was taking him to gather his wits about him.

Like Bendy was on his tail, Henry stormed down the stairs two steps at a time, nearly slipping on ink more than once, but knowing that him dying didn’t really mean much after so many times, especially in the face of a child who had probably never had to experience death before. He hefted that axe, chopping through wooden boards with a grow vigor he hadn’t displayed in what felt like years.

He didn’t even glance at the coffins and summoning circle as he passed, yanking the door open, and he was only a few steps down when he stopped, looking down at the little brown haired, pacing child with a yellow backpack too big for someone so small. They had their hands on their cheeks, face scrunched up in thought as the took three paces to the left, three paces to the right, back and forth. 

“Hello?” He called out hesitantly, their squinty eyes whipping up to the stairs. “Hey, kid, uh, just- just stay right there, okay?” He went down slowly, not quite sure how to handle a child that was probably petrified at what was going on in the last. “My name is Henry, I’m- I was an animator at this studio, a long time ago. What’s your name?”

The kid’s face lit up, and they lifted one hand, making weird shapes with their fingers… _Oh._ “I’m sorry, I don’t know any Sign.” Henry felt kind of bad as they looked thrown for a loop, like the idea that someone didn’t know Sign Language was shocking. Must be homeschooled by a nice family.

They snapped their fingers, turning their back to Henry as he reached the bottom of the stairs, dragging their finger through the inky residue near the banjo. They wrote ‘FRISK’ on the wall, beaming up at him. Okay, so there’s no way they remember if they’re so peppy after dying, right? They added ‘R U OK” underneath after he sighed.

“Yeah, kid, Frisk, I’m fine.” He tried to give a comforting smile and the kid responded by patting his leg with one of their ink covered hands. That’s okay, he’d splashed through enough ink on the way down it didn’t really matter.

They looked around, moving to another wall to write, and Henry double checked quickly, pulling out the mirror to see the ink turned bright red in it. Yes, this kid was, as far as he knew, the only new thing in this place. How could they see his messages? He thought to ask, turning, but his eyes were drawn to what they just wrote instead. ‘U KNO SAMMY?’

Looking between Frisk and the new message, dripping eerily to the floor because they used too much ink, Henry glanced to the recorder on a nearby table. “... Have you listened to that recording, Frisk?” They nodded, watching curiously as he pressed play, and he hoped, he so very much hoped-

“He appears from the shadows to rain his sweet blessings upon me. The figure of ink that shines in the darkness.” They hadn’t taken the tape out. He was reasonably certain that meant they hadn’t listened to it yet. If they hadn’t listened to it yet, they either knew Sammy before, which was unlikely, or they remembered. Which would mean they remembered _dying._

He looked at them in horror. “Sammy was the music director… Did you not find out, before you- before Bendy…?”

 

\---------

 

Frisk was ecstatic to see that the man, Henry, didn’t seem to be dangerous. To the point that he seemed to forget he was holding something that could be used as weapon. It was a bit disappointing that he couldn’t understand ASL, but they shouldn’t have expected him to. Most Humans didn’t.

Still, he said he was an animator for this studio a long time ago, maybe he knew the ink-man-monster named Sammy? Was that why he tried to do whatever that was to the man? Frisk wasn’t sure, but they could certainly ask!

Before he answered, he asked if they had listened to the recording, and they curiously nodded their head, wondering at the suddenly suspicious behavior. He played the tape. He stared at it in shock as Sammy’s voice played, before moving that scared gaze down to Frisk. “Sammy was the music director… Did you not find out, before you- before Bendy…?”

This man was like Sans! Well, not like Sans in most senses of the word, but he knew! He could feel the Reset happen! Frisk clapped once, beaming, somewhat ignorant to the man’s turmoil. They’d have to start budgeting space now that they had something to talk about, no more big, bold text.

“How do you manage to be so full of energy after dying?” Frisk no longer had to look up at the man, crouched as he was, staring imploringly as them. They didn’t know what he wanted, what his sad eyes were asking.

After a moment of thought, Frisk supposed maybe the harsh reality would be best. They faced the wall, dragging an almost dry finger across the sepia-toned wood. ‘MY 28TH DEATH’ they wrote, though that was only counting once they realized they could save quite literally everyone in the Underground. They had… a good few more back when they’d not figured that out.

“I said, can I get an amen?” Echoed through the halls, sending shivers up Frisk’s spine. That made it official. There was no going back to the previous run unless they died without Saving. They wondered if anyone else down here would remember this place. 

“This is my 155th time doing this.” Their heart dropped. “You’re the first new thing down here in a long time, Frisk.” This man had died 155 times??? Frisk was horrified, and their face must have conveyed that thought clearly. “Not that I’ve died 155 times! This place, the timeline here loops around. Get to the end and everything starts over again. In fact, it almost felt like when you died, sending things back to where they were.”

Frisk honestly couldn’t fathom the thought of having no control over their Loads and Resets. They couldn’t really turn it off, but where they returned to was entirely predetermined by them with their Saves, and Loads were entirely focused on Frisk’s will to do better.

Thankfully, Frisk was certain they knew how to end this horror story for Henry. Their ability to Save had been entirely erased after they’d freed the Monsters, so Henry’s loop would probably end if they saved everyone here too!!

Wetting their fingers in another nearby puddle, and man were their fingers starting to feel gross from that, they chose a new section of wall and started writing. 

**“WE HAVE TO SAVE THEM  
SAVE SAMMY LAWRENCE  
CHANGE THEIR FATES”**


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of character context, just in case, and Frisk takes the first step to figuring out what was done to these people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Henry's gonna get tired of Frisk's shinanigans fast.

Not having realized how odd that phrase had sounded without any context, Frisk and Henry ended up using most of their wall space with Frisk telling Henry their story about the Underground and the Monsters below. Only vaguely, as it was a long story and they couldn’t really waste time with description. They confessed not realizing they could get through Fights without winning and done a lot of bad in their early stages, but smartened up thanks to a couple of friends. 

They didn’t tell him they were Skeletons, but if Henry had been down here long enough that this story was new, then that might throw him for a loop. They didn’t tell him how far their lack of Mercy had gone. They sure as hell didn’t tell him about Flowey. They most certainly didn’t tell Henry that they were down there because they wandered off after their parents never came to pick them up from a bus stop, and was adopted by a goat woman, a goat man, a fire man, _and a robot._ All separately and metaphorically.

It was a busy couple of years for Frisk, even if it was only actually a couple of weeks to the rest of the world. Frisk tells people they’re 13, but physically they’re technically still 11. Y’know, legally. Shhhh, don’t tell anyone…

The one thing they had to admit to him was how old they were when all of that happened, and they fessed up their ‘ALMOST 10’. He had stared at the number looking almost haunted, before patting Frisk’s head like they were a delicate Golden Flower. Sans had looked at them similarly when the Monsters found out what a human lifespan was like, which was kind of weird.

After that, they moved forward through the studio while Henry briefly recounted his own story. Frisk couldn’t ask questions, but that was okay. Henry was a good storyteller. What few questions that came to mind that weren’t answered they filed away for when they took a break. Like what the fuck was in those coffins.

Frisk was thrown for a loop hearing that Sammy was Human. Like, born and raised Human with a Human soul and everything, or well, they assumed. They’d certainly been banking on Monster, what with the four fingers and inky frame, and the fact that there were plenty of Monsters who looked equally close to Human. Well, they'd have to take a while convincing him that he wouldn't look all that strange to the outside world anymore.

Apparently, there was nothing in the studio that completely confirmed it, but everything in the studio, the apparently numerous ink creatures, were likely people who once worked here, changed by the ink machine or their own boss. Every recording they may have heard was a person that had been taken by the ink.

Sammy Lawrence was the music director, and now he was a better version of something called a ‘Lost One’ which was a better version yet of something else called a ‘Searcher’. They’d have to meet some Searchers soon, according to Henry, almost immediately after turning on some lights in the Music department. Sammy was apparently a sort of leader to them, honestly a cult leader, capable of calming and commanding them.

Then there was Susie Campbell, who had apparently was a broken attempt at making a specific thing out of an already living person. They’d have to deal with her and her demands and dangers later, but Frisk had interrupted Henry’s musings on how to deal with her with a shake of the head, wagging a finger and miming a watch, trying to convey ‘one thing at a time!’ It worked well enough, the man moving on as they watched Sammy walk past an open door, Frisk up to their knees in ink and holding Henry’s hand.

Allison and Thomas, one of whom Frisk had a recording of in their backpack, sitting next to a tape of Sammy, were the most stable of the creations Henry had met down here. Apparently, they were lacking memory but retained their humanity. Allison was the closest to a perfect Alice in this place, but Thomas? Thomas wasn’t even close to a perfect Boris, but his mind was like a fortress according to Henry; the man was capable of going through all of this and still just huff impatiently and do things with his own two(ish) hands.

Then there was Norman Polk, the Projectionist. Frisk’s face scrunched up in defiance at Henry’s doubt at being able to save him. According to him, the man was now a soulless creature, skulking about in the dark between several areas in the Studio. With a projector for a head and a mindless rage towards anyone who stood in his projector’s light, Norman was perhaps just as dangerous to them as Bendy himself.

Frisk made note of the areas Norman patrols, determined to run off on their own and confront this challenge alone. 

Bertrum Piedmont was a prideful man, but unfortunately, Henry had never actually met this one in person. It seemed he had been angry over one of the many reasons Henry himself had ended up leaving, stolen credit, and from the same person taboot. He and Joey Drew had even clashed on a more personality based level, having too much in common to get along. He was stuck inside a theme park ride, waiting for his time for revenge, apparently.

Everyone else, Shawn, Lacie, Wally, Grant, and all the others Henry didn’t know the names of, made up everything else in this place. “I don’t know what Boris… what any of the Boris’s are made from, if they’re even made from people at all, but there are a lot of them.”

Having already opened the shutter door, Henry’s hand hovered over the light switch that would cause Searchers to attack them. “Boris…. Frisk, did you see him upstairs, strapped onto that table?”

Frisk perked up, and then immediately wilted, thinking of Buddy- er, Boris who they’d just had confirmed wasn’t a decoration. Someone in this place had torn open that poor dog and stuck a wrench inside of him! They nodded to Henry’s question, missing his wince for bringing it up and decided to drop it for now. They get back to it when they found Perfect Boris.

As he turned away to flip the switch, Frisk swung their backpack off, remembering that there would be a Fight very soon. They didn’t want to be caught off guard, and they didn’t want Henry to kill the Searchers! So they dug through, finding their New Tutu - a blue one replacing the original - and matching Ballet Shoes. Not traditional weapons, not really something they could hurt someone with outside of a Fight, but it had served its purpose in the Underground!

Catching up to Henry before he left the landing at the top of the inky stairs, they dodged past his restraining hand, not realizing his panic as they practically skipped into the room. A globule of ink fell from the ceiling, a dripping face appearing out of the muck, and before Henry could reach the child, Frisk challenged their second ink Monster of the evening to a Fight!

Nothing happened, and Frisk began to mourn all these creatures that must yearn for a soul, but then a familiar feeling crawled through their spine, the room blinking out of their vision.

There, in front of them, was their bright red, shining heart, stuffed to the brim with determination and HoPe. And there, not too far away, pulsating softly, was a small inky soul, dripping heavily with black and struggling under that weight. Then, just barely through the ink and stuttering beats, they could see a tiny splash of Cyan on the upright soul.

Tainted and weighed down it may be, but Frisk was floored to find a still human soul under the mess that had been done to them. It was time to use this pocket of space to figure out how to fix a Searcher. They were thankful no one else in this place seemed to know how to start a Fight and interrupt...


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry's still hung up over Frisk's age, but he's realizing that he's going to have to get over it, especially now that they've given him a goal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao sorry

Frisk quickly figured out that Flirting didn’t work, and neither did Jokes or Pets. They knew they shouldn’t be treating a Fight with a Human the same as a Monster, but they didn’t exactly have experience fighting anything else. How had monsters tried to talk them down in the beginning?

… by literally talking them down. They were grateful that they had a pocket full of monster candy, and that the Searcher fought eerily similarly to Napstablook, merely dodging inky drops falling from above. It gave them plenty of time to figure this out. Frisk didn’t want to resort to damaging them enough that they give up, sparing before killing. That was too dangerous.

They tried conveying their feelings through thought, but it seemed Sammy had been a fluke, actually understanding rapid letter signing. No matter how far they shoved their feelings, how loudly they screamed in their head, this inky creature was still Human and could not hear it.

Even taking a full turn trying to wipe off the ink didn’t work, a small hole in the crease of the Soul pumping out more ink, recoating it with a pained moaning. It was like this soul had been turned into its own Ink Machine. Was there a way to empty it of ink, or could they just…?

Soul weaving through inky droplets with practiced ease, Frisk made a run for the cyan Soul, taking a piece of Monster Candy and shoving it unceremoniously into the hole as their Act. It was a terribly thought out plan, knowing that while yes, Monster food could heal human Souls, if the hole healed over and nothing else the risk if that Soul bloating with ink that had no way out…

Still, as ink dripped off with nothing new replacing it, it looked like the patient little Soul was working it’s best with what it had been given. Independent of Frisk, the little Soul sucked in the piece of candy, shuddered, and then it _glowed._ But it didn’t glow the blue of Patience, no, it started glowing the bright candy red of DETERMINATION.

Behind it, the inky creature’s body began to dissolve, not even melting, as the ink around it disappeared into the void. What it left behind was… nothing. Nothing but an abused cyan Soul, pulsing faintly with the desperate power it had mustered up with only a little help. 10 HoPe to the hopeless… was apparently a lot.

It started to sink, fluttering towards the ground before Frisk caught it, and the magic pocket that the Fight took place in started to fade. Trembling, the child began to cry. The Soul was here, and it was in one piece, bound to recover with a little care, but there was no body for it to return to, no person to save. Whoever this soul had belonged to, whoever was used to make that inky creature, was well and truly dead.

The Searchers around them melted, the pack having shared a single soul among them, and Frisk soon felt arms around their shoulder. They leaned into the hug, letting themselves mourn and cry on their Human companion’s shoulder.

 

\--------

 

When Frisk ran past him to take on the inky creatures themselves, Henry felt his heart in his throat as all of the Searchers reared up to attack them. He was closer, he could get the reckless kid out of this, but he’d have to take a few hits! 

He reached out with his free hand, hefting the axe with the other, and grasped their shoulder to pull them back. Or he would have if he could. Henry’s hand phased right through Frisk, causing him to stumble, turning poorly on his heel to stay upright. With a wince, he quickly glanced at their enemy, surprised to find that they hadn’t moved since he looked away from them.

For a long, tense few minutes, nothing happened, Henry pacing between the child and the Searchers. He stewed in the anxiety of not knowing what was happening or what was going to happen, for the first time in a while, deciding he hadn’t really missed this part of the outside world. 

What Frisk was doing was stupid. They weren’t even a teenager yet, not really, and they were taking responsibility for this world and it’s problems like they were some sort of comic book hero. Sure they’d already had an adventure, and they’d already died many times to save an entire race of people, but-but they weren’t even old enough for their first legal drink!

He felt like he was running the argument in circles in his head, wishful thinking and morality versus reality. No one had really protected the child when it mattered, letting them die over and over again unknowingly. On the other hand, Frisk was the only one who could have done what they did, and they chose to do it! But _on a third hand_ they didn’t really have any other options, which suggests they would have been forced into it if they were unwilling anyways!

Henry had almost debated himself into a break down when suddenly, one of the Searchers popped like a balloon, dissolving into the air around them, the rest of them melting into their puddles. Frisk, meanwhile…

Oh. Frisk held a tiny little light blue heart shaped thing in their hands, and they held it so very gently before curling around it, tears bubbling up from the corners of their eyes. Oh so very small, Frisk was a forceful reminder of what he was trying to get out to go back to. His wife and toddler son, both so strong, but so prone to tears.

He wound his arms around their shoulders, chin on top of their head as they cried their little heart out. He wasn’t sure yet why they were crying, but he was sure he’d be told when they calmed down and wrote it out on the walls.

It took a long while, but eventually, they were down to sniffling sadly, dragging their striped sleeve over their face. With one hand cradling what he was about to find out was a human soul, the other reached out and let the ink dripping from the ceiling cover their hand. With broad strokes, Frisk wrote across the wall of the music department, ‘DEAD. ONLY A SOUL LEFT’.

Henry had… honestly expected worse. Frisk had obviously expected there to be something to save, but when Frisk said they needed to save everyone in the Studio, well, Henry had been through here many times, and he had his doubts. He’d seen all the torn up ink creatures and the insanity that ran rampant in this place. He’d seen Sammy’s apparent immortality, Norman getting his projector head ripped off by Bendy, Susie’s complete lack of morality. There was no soul in this place.

But there, that tiny thing in Frisk’s hands, told him that there might be something in here worth fighting for after all.

“We’re going to have a talk about you rushing into danger to test theories, but for now…” Henry pat Frisk’s head, amazed. “Now we have something tangible to fight for. Guess we’re going soul collecting.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe someday Henry will stop underestimating Frisk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's technically Friday, even though it's 2am and I'm tired af from exam week lmao. Will be a bit longer before those near-daily updates again, lots of work to do

Getting the keys from the trash and getting into Sammy’s sanctuary, picking up tape recordings on the way, was a quick and easy task. The Cyan Soul had been stuffed inside of Frisk’s backpack for lack of better place to store it, and it glowed warmly, surrounded by magically maintained hot pie and other such goodies. Now, Frisk waved up at Sammy from where they were placing a Purple Soul next to it, having successfully stuffed a piece of candy into the Soul of another pack of searchers. It was a frighteningly easy thing for them to do.

Henry starred as Sammy waved back hesitantly. It was nice to see that he wasn’t the only one who thought a child didn’t belong here, but he always thought Sammy was too broken to realize something like that. Or maybe he was thrown for a loop over the Souls in their backpack, who knows.

According to Frisk, Sammy was too far above them to initiate a fight. They’d have to get him when he came to knock them out later. 

Next stop was the infirmary around the corner, somewhere Frisk hadn’t been yet. They’d seen it when rushing to and fro looking for Henry earlier, but it had been flooded with ink. Apparently, the valve in the sanctuary drains it, which was what he’d been there for in the first place.

Frisk lingered on the stairs, staring incredulously at the sign over a flickering light, stating that people “faking” illness would be docked an entire week’s pay. They could see why Henry left, and honestly, they were surprised enough people stayed behind to make the list of people he knows here as long as it was.

They dearly wished they were tall enough to rub ink all over the sign. Instead, they huffed, hopping down the stairs after Henry.

“There’s supposed to be a Searcher here.” He told them, gesturing to the center of the infirmary. “I guess it was part of one of the previous packs. Nice to see it’s changing things.” He pulled the switch for light in the sewers, and Frisk’s nose wrinkled. Time for another smelly adventure, like the dump Alphys took them to.

Against one wall at the entrance to the sewer, the words “Down here we’re all SINNERS” was painted black. Not foreboding at all! Henry didn’t even glance at the words, stepping into and trudging through the lake of ink that filled up the pipes.

Frisk scurried after him, smiling toothily at a figure of ink they spied down the way, wearing a yellow hat. They ran ahead of Henry, messily sloshing through the ink, and leaned against a board of wood that was nailed up. It would do a poor job keeping most people out or in, just tall enough that it was up to Frisk’s shoulders, a second just over their head. 

“Frisk, you have to stop running ahead of me, that’s dangerous.” Henry approached with a worried frown, pulling them back from the wood. He hefted his axe, the ink creature disappearing at the sight of it, and chopped through the wood. Frisk watched, pouting behind him. Henry might know where he’s going, but he was too used to looking at everything here as an enemy to realize that his axe seemed to scare away the friend they’re about to make.

They passed more writing on the walls “The Sheep will come to Slaughter” on their way through, and took a pit stop at a nook with a small desk, a violin, and another tape recording. The tape was labeled “Jack Fain”, and Frisk picked it up, handing the whole machine to Henry before pressing play.

They listened to the lyricist declare the sewer as his own sanctuary as they continued farther through the ink. It wasn’t long before they came upon two collection tanks, the thick, dripping, somehow friendly Searcher between them. Henry moved to the side, tucking the recorder under his arm to pull a lever on the tank on the right, and Frisk watched, briefly confused as a heavy looking platform rose to the ceiling by some chains.

It took them a minute to figure out what Henry was doing, but when he scared the Searcher to the side and then started circling around, Frisk was _offended_ on behalf of this sad moaning lump of ink. That was a person! Now or before, this creature deserved more respect than that!

Running between the tanks, Frisk removed their backpack and leaned it on the ledge, away from the ink, and then dropped down under the raised platform, ink soaking them all the way up to their chest. They crossed their arms, content to wait until Henry gave up, or the bloated Searcher came to them for a Fight.

When Henry noticed, he looked frustrated, looking at the attempt at a stone-face and crossed arms. He tossed the recorder at them and they fumbled with it, but it didn’t fall into the ink. “Can you put that back on Jack’s desk?” He asked, and missed something that caught Frisk’s keen eye.

The Searcher had whirled around and moaned quietly in response to the name.

Beaming, Frisk held out Jack Fain’s recording to the creature, but it didn’t move, clutching protectively at the valve. They pressed play and tried again.

“Frisk, I really don’t think that’ll-!” Henry swallowed his own words, the grip on his axe going slack as the ink blot moaned, following the pitch of the dialogue in a way that would have gotten a laugh out of anyone if it was done by a less pitiful creature. 

It inched towards the child, holding out the valve, and it's other hand, obviously intent on trading, arms stretched to maximum capacity. It had crossed Henry’s mind in the past, that maybe this Searcher was Jack Fain, but he’d never really put any stock into it. No one in this place seemed to remember anything about who was used to make them, so he’d assumed it was merely a sacrifice, but now, this was seriously making him doubt himself. 

“You have to tell me how you come up with these solutions.” He muttered, watching them swap items, squeezing the handle of his axe with the nerves running through him. One wrong move and this thing might attack the kid, even if he’d never been given trouble by it in the past.

Frisk grinned, valve held tightly in their little hand. They reached their free one out for a handshake to finalize their business, but the blob shrunk away from the hand, appearing back over by their backpack. They would feel their heart pumping as it prodded the bag, pausing to press play again on the tape recorder when the sounds stopped.

There were a tense few seconds before it looked at Frisk, gesturing to itself, then pointing to the bag. Never had Frisk wished more that they had to ability to hear the thoughts of others’ feelings the way monsters did. They signed that they couldn’t give it the bag, and it responded with a louder moan than the others.

It waved the recorder around, nearly dropping it, and then Frisk finally saw the black ink on the wall over their backpack. “Sing with Me,” it said. Frisk spun the valve between their hands, not knowing if they were comfortable with what they were about to do, knowing what they just figured out.

It was unavoidable that they at least tried, however, so Frisk looked right into those sunken sockets and initiated their third ever Fight.

While the cyan and purple souls had been small and weighed down, wrung dry from the outpour of their inky fillings, the soul in front of them was simultaneously bloated and squashed, sides pressed inwards. It was evident why, as the determined soul was partly blocking off the hole in the top on it’s own, trembling from the struggle. Only a few lines of black ink sullied the color, and Frisk was amazed at the difference, as well as one other thing.

Jack Fain had a Red Soul.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red Souls are unique, but even Frisk isn't totally aware.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit shorter than I wanted it to be, but hey, it's done! Have a day or two away from school stuff, so I might have another before the weekend it up.

Henry watched as Frisk came out of their fight with a third soul in their hands, the bloated Searcher dissolving into flakes of ink. At first he didn’t see anything strange about the soul, since the others had been different colors as well, but the way Frisk looked at it made the whole thing feel strange.

While the previous two had been small and stuttering, little ropes of red being all that held them together, this one was entirely red, and significantly larger than the others. It pulsed gently, strong in its bodiless form, and even hovered a good few inches over Frisk’s hands.

The child was looking at the soul like it was a strange, fascinating thing, like they had never seen a red soul before. “Is there something wrong with it?” He asked, concerned, but they merely shook their head, making their way over to the backpack. 

Curiously, the soul dove into the bag on its own the instant it was open, and he heard Frisk gasp. Wading through the ink, Henry took a look inside over their shoulder. Or course, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking at, but…

The red soul hovered between the purple and cyan souls, shrinking ever so slightly as the red lines supporting them thickened. Despite the eerie look of red veins that contracted like a heartbeat, it seemed to stabilize them, their colors glowing brighter.

Frisk looked back at Henry in amazement, before realizing he had no idea what was happening. Leaning the bag back up against the wall, Frisk scooped up some ink and scribbled quickly under the “Sing with Me,” text, “Jack’s determination is grounding them,”.

He… still didn’t really understand, but if that soul was helping the other souls, that works for him. What he did understand, is that he’d been crushing Jack Fain repeatedly. He’d suspected that, of course, but he thought everything in this place had forgotten who they were. It seemed obvious now that Jack Fain had some amount of humanity or an inkling of who he was before the ink. It made him less guilty than he thought it should, but that was probably because they were fixing things now.

Watching Frisk close the bag and shoulder it, Henry had a feeling that protecting this child was never going to work. While he could delude himself into thinking that what the kid was doing was easy and reckless, it was starting to sink in that what they were doing now, they had done similarly, _alone_ before.

He half expected Frisk to start leading the way, but realized he was still the guide, and picked up the wheel; kid had enough weight to carry. He led the way back out of the sewer, trying not to think about how contrite Frisk looked.

————-

Did Frisk just murder what was left of Jack Fain? They shuffled behind Henry, feeling the powerful beating of a human soul against their back, trying to remember a time their own soul felt so strong. Maybe when they fought Asriel…?

They hadn’t taken the tape they gave to Jack, since they had traded for the wheel it wasn’t theirs. Fair’s fair after all! It was a good thing, since with the increase in size of the souls, there was little room in the backpack. Maybe 3 tapes, or another handful of non-red souls and that’d be it for their bag. They could probably share some of their food with Henry…

Stepping into the infirmary, Frisk paused, a realization creeping up on them. If Henry has been forced through multiple resets without pause, what has he eaten since he arrived…? They looked up at the man, taking in his tired eyes and skinny frame, tense muscles in his arm clear through his thin shirt. 

He paused a few feet ahead of them. “Everything alright, Frisk?” He asked, voice much stronger than his body. When they didn’t immediately answer, continuing to scrutinize him, he started to look nervous. “... Frisk?”

Dropping their backpack to the ground, they opened it and scooped up the souls so they wouldn’t damage them, then reached inside. The only thing worth handing over would have to be either their last cinna bunny, or… They pulled out a piece of cinnamon-butterscotch pie, thrusting it towards Henry. Two left after that.

The man stared at it for a long moment, but Frisk was patient and waited for the man to take it. Pie was magical, honestly; Frisk hadn’t eaten that first piece Toriel gave them until moments before their first full reset. 

Henry eventually wiped off his inky hand as best he could and picked up the still magically warm pie, and he looked at it funny, like he didn’t know what it was other than good. Frisk turned away while he ate it, gently tucking the souls back into their places, red heart in the centre. It twirled happily, like this was the best day of its life, and the other two, bloated with red and thriving, hovered contentedly over what was left of the pie.

When Frisk turned back around, Henry was licking his inky fingers and Frisk stuck their tongue out in disgust. They studiously ignore the redness of his eyes and the water gathered in the ducts. They never fell anyways.

“Thanks Frisk. You can only get away with only ancient bacon soup for so long, I guess.” He wetly chuckled, looking more relaxed than he had the entire time the child had known him. “Now, let’s get that valve where it belongs and get going.” Henry gently pat their head.

A job well done, Frisk thought, patting themselves on the back. Didn’t make up for maybe-sort of-killing Jack Fain, but the relaxed shoulders ahead and the determined pumping behind made Frisk feel worlds better about the situation. Made them feel like maybe they could do this without making too many mistakes.

It filled them with Determination.

 

**_Saved_ **


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk makes a mistake. Not their fault, really.

Frisk was very kind, Henry thought to himself. Kind, and brave, and _tiny_ , and he had no idea how they could have gone through so much and remained so good and thoughtful. Honestly, that pie was the best thing he ever ate, as far as he was concerned. His first taste of sugar and warmth since he first landed himself in this mess, and it came from a little kid who shouldn’t even be here.

Here he was, having just come to the realization that Frisk wasn’t someone he could protect, someone who could easily handle themselves, and now all he wanted to do was protect them again. 

It was some damn good pie.

Somehow, the treat had eased the ache in both his stomach, that he’d been ignoring so long he’d forgotten about it, and the pains in his joints and muscles. He had no idea how, but he wouldn’t put it past them to have done it for exactly that reason. He hadn’t felt better since… honestly, maybe years before coming back to the studio. Even his back pain from years overworking himself over a desk had faded some.

“Alright,” He turned the valve, watching Frisk wring out the now stained tutu they were for some reason still wearing. “Off to Sammy’s office. I’m not sure what will happen after that with you here, but Sammy normally knocks me out with that dustpan on my way to the stairs. What will you do-” He looked at their defiantly puffed up cheeks and crossed arms,chuckling slightly to himself. “Alright, first try I guess you’re going to try and stop it from happening altogether.”

Frisk nodded before marching their way up the stairs, evidently knowing their way around this floor by now. It was odd, how little fear they showed walking through a strange place where they’d died before. Henry glanced at his hand, wondering how they hadn’t even flinched when he touched their head.

He followed behind them, one step per two of their short strides. “You must be completely fearless, kid. Does Sammy not scare you?” He almost said Bendy, but thought that might be a bad idea.

They shook their head, lips pressing together as they moved a little faster. Like that wasn’t a suspicious denial at all… It had Henry concerned again, but if it was going to be a problem, he was sure the kid would say so.

They made quick work of draining the ink, and Frisk paused to listen to Sammy’s radio. He’d spent a fair amount of time relaxing here in the past, before working up the nerve to get knocked out, so he knew they could spare a minute. Besides, the kid looked more like they were in thought than they were enjoying the music.

 

\---------------

“You must be completely fearless, kid. Does Sammy not scare you?” No, no. Frisk knew what he really meant to ask. What Frisk didn’t know was if they should tell him what exactly _fear_ has done to them. After their first run through the Underground, they were determined to never let fear influence their actions ever again. Frisk and Sans would never forget just how bad things could get.

After all, a demon can only win if you let them in, and when a demon says they’ll protect you from what you fear… Thankfully, that didn’t seem to even be an option anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time.

Listening to the music on the radio helped pull them out of those thoughts about Flowey’s best friend, the upbeat tune reminding them far more of Papyrus. They wondered how long they’d been gone. Were they supposed to get picked up from their day with Flowey soon? … Had Flowey or Sans noticed their Reset? It had only been half an hour at most, so hopefully they wouldn’t notice because they were sleeping or something…

They vigorously shook their head. No time to think about that. Frisk smiled at Henry and nodded for him to lead the way. They would have to intercept Sammy before he had a chance to swing that metal dust pan!

Walking close behind Henry, Frisk nearly walked backwards to keep an eye out for the inky man. It was difficult, knowing that he could travel through the ink, and they didn’t know if he would try to hide from both of them. He had been almost gentle with Frisk before, but who knows if he would just knock them both out this time.

It turns out that Frisk hardly had to worry, as that masked face came out from a wall behind Henry, finger raised to silently shush the child. They certainly stayed quiet, but as he approached, dust pan lifted, Frisk drew up their courage and raised their arms. They hugged the ink man.

At first it felt kind of like hugging a wet person. Sammy didn’t move, tense while Frisk restrained him with kindness, but then, like the man was made of _oobleck_ their arms started to sink into the ink, deeper and deeper, until it felt like they were hugging one of their skeleton friends, their hands resting against the base of a _ribcage_.

“What do you think you are doing, little sheep?” His voice was low, sounding strangled and far too calm. Something vibrated against their back, insistently pushing and pushing them closer into the ink. “What are you doing!?”

“Frisk-!” Henry grabbed the loop of their backpack, and managed to pull them back out, bit by bit. Before he managed it, something soft and warm fell into Frisk’s hand, Sammy dropping the dustpan with a pained groaning noise that raised the ink heavy hairs on their arms.

With a sick pop, Frisk’s hands came free, and Sammy collapsed. They watched in horror as he started to melt, mask clattering to the floor. In their hand, white as any monster’s Soul, was a weightless, empty, yet warm husk of what a human Soul should have been.

It cracked and crumbled, turning brittle in their hands, and their backpack suddenly felt lighter. “Frisk, what just happened?” They ignored Henry’s worried inquiries, swinging their backpack around and ripping it open.

The purple Soul had vanished. Frisk had just killed Sammy Lawrence. Heart caught in their chest, Frisk did the only thing they could think of.

_**Loading File….** _


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What are the main components of your animation's birth?

Ink people are fragile. Searchers house Lost One Souls. The Purple Soul was Sammy’s Soul. Sammy Lawrence has a fully human soul _out of his body_. Ink people were oh so very fragile. They’d only hugged him! Nothing was making any sense! Frisk just killed Sammy Lawrence!

_Frisk just killed Sammy Lawrence._

Guilt gnawed at them as they blinked into a previous time, swinging their backpack around to pull out the Soul they’d just brought an end to. 

It sat in the palm of their hand, glowing softly, purple and red in the dull lighting of the studio. Still alive. Still stuttering and struggling.

“Frisk, what happened?” They looked up with blurring vision to see Henry taking in the sudden change in scenery, before he crouched next to them. “Why did we reset? Sammy always comes back…Oh, oh Frisk...” He put an arm around their shoulders, and they blinked through their tears.

Sniffling, the child went back to making sure the human Soul was still in the state it was earlier, and that they hadn’t damaged it in any way. They’d never handled any Soul but their own before, they had no idea how them messing with the timeline would affect things. Would Sammy have even been set back to normal?

What even was that thing that they’d pulling out of him? It felt… it felt very similar to what was in their hands right now, actually. Just… It had felt hollow, like paper fresh from a printer, folded into a heart shape. But if that Soul was there, what about the Soul in their hands? What kind of Soul even was that? It was white, but shaped like a Human’s and nowhere near as sturdy or lively. It cracked in an instant like a Monster soul too, but if Sammy was Human before the ink…

All of this way just making Frisk’s head spin, tears quickly reduced to sniffles as they found their resolve once more. This wasn’t so different from what they did in the past. Try, fail, try again. It just wasn’t Frisk dying that would require a reset this time.

Rubbing a thumb over those red lines, they wondered if maybe there was enough hollow space in that papery heart for his old one to fit inside. Or should they try filling it with Monster food, like the colored Souls? They hadn’t even tried Fighting him yet…

Nodding to themself, Frisk looked up at Henry, shoulders drawn up, with that little purple heart clasped gently between two hands.

“... Ready to try again?” The man asked gently, sounding very concerned for their well-being. They nodded, resolute. “Guess no one’s going to be hugging Sammy for a wh- what?” Frisk was nodding again, determined to see what could be done with that paper Soul before they took the leap to Fight. “... If you’re sure, Frisk.”

Once more they flipped the switch in Sammy’s office, listened to the music for a moment, then moved on. They played it nearly the same way, only with a purple glow between Frisk’s fingers, thus, Sammy came out of the same wall, silently shushing the child behind Henry again.

Frisk tried their best to ignore the small flinch Sammy gave this time as they restrained him with a hug. It wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary for people to vaguely remember things that happened in a past loop of Frisk’s, though Flowey said no one ever remembered theirs besides Sans.

There was a slight tremble in the inky frame this time, axe clattering to the floor in an instant. “Release me, child-!” He gasped as once again, Frisk started to sink into the liquid flesh, but rather than let his hands hover away, he took hold of their slim shoulders. “Whatever you are about to do, I implore you, do not!”

Again, Frisk ignore him, his higher pitch in panic making guilt flood their system. However, as the Soul still in their hand fluttered and twirled, they quickly forgot about that, the warm, empty husk of a paper soul finding its way to fit snugly in their other palm.

Briefly, Sammy’s abdomen glowed a bright, blinding purple, and Frisk was unceremoniously ejected from the ink. They landed on the floor between Sammy and Henry, the man having stood back to give Frisk room this time, and their head hit the floor with a sickening **Thud**.

The only thing they heard before briefly briefly passing out, was the sound of someone retching violently nearby.

 

\----------

 

When Frisk reset, Henry was beyond confused. Would that have happened if he had ever tried for prolonged contact with an ink person here? He doesn’t remember having direct contact for anything more than a swift punch in the face, if he was totally honest. Well, other than Boris for a quick hug or two, but Boris was obviously different from the Lost Ones and Searchers.

It should have been fine though. He probably wasn’t clear enough about Sammy always coming back like he was immortal or something. Henry was reasonably certain Frisk had jumped the gun on this one. Unless they knew something he didn’t, which was kind of becoming a trend here. 

“Frisk, what happened?” He took a knee next to the child, seeing them pull the purple soul out of the bag. Their hands shook. “Why did we reset?” He enquired quietly, worried about the tears gathering in the corners of their eyes. “Sammy always comes back…Oh, oh Frisk...” He put an arm around their shoulders and they hiccuped, doing their best not to cry.

Okay, so obviously something bad happened. What had Frisk seen in their backpack that made them react like this, after being so strong for so long? He honestly didn’t want to ask, and just held onto them while they rode out their guilt and processed what happened. Henry had seen Sammy die too many times to really be bothered at this point.

Eventually, not long enough in Henry’s opinion, Frisk looked up, shoulders drawn up and brow furrowed like they would take on the world just to keep what happened from ever stay that way.

He attempted a small smile.“... Ready to try again?” He gave a little squeeze to their shoulders, proud of the preteen as they nodded twice, clutching the purple soul between their tiny little hands.

“Guess no one’s going to be hugging Sammy for a wh- what?” Frisk was nodding again, and Henry wished he could see inside their head, just for 5 minutes. Well, maybe he didn’t have to. If you swapped Sammy out for one of Alice’s puzzles near the start, he’d treated it similarly. Never the same thing twice, but even the smallest change could give a different outcome. “... If you’re sure, Frisk.”

Frisk stuck closer to Henry on the way to Sammy’s office, but knowing the fewer variables, the better, they took a step back and went back to nearly walking backwards on the way to the drained stairs. With the soul sitting in their palm, Frisk was ready to repeat what must have been the most sickening feeling, and he realized he had no idea what their actual plan was.

When they hugged the inky musician, Henry took a large step back from the situation, observing and not interfering. Frisk could handle themselves. The pair glowed bright for a moment, and he immediately regretted that decision as the child’s head nearly cracked against the floor at the same time as Sammy’s knees. 

“Shit, Frisk!” Henry looped an arm under their shoulders, scooping them off the floor. They barely weighed more than the axe in his other hand… He would worry about that later. He would also worry about the horrendous sounds coming from the musician later, heavy, wet retching expelling ink all over the floor.

He inched away from the religious nutcase, making his was towards the stairs. When he felt safe enough to turn his back on the man, he started to run, child in one arm, weapon in the other. But he didn’t make it far before his heels dug into the flooring, whipping around to stare at pained, glowing purple eyes.

“ _Henry, if you leave me like this, I will HAUNT YOU!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ink, Paper, and Soul.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy Lawrence was once a handsome man.

Henry wasn’t sure what he should do. This had never happened before, nor anything even remotely like it. Heck, Sammy never even remembered his name without a serious amount of prompting.

He glanced between the stairs and the man, watching as the ink that made up his body _boiled_ , still coughing up sizeable globs of thick black ink. It was an honestly pitiable sight, hearing hiccups and quiet sobs between bouts of inky bile. He remembered Sammy, full of pride and scorn, passion and righteous indignation.

“Henry, _please_...” It was less the sorry state he was in or the plea that made him choose his old coworker, and more the memory of Sammy being the only one besides himself and Thomas who would ever really stand up to Joey Drew before he left.

Cursing under his breath and giving Frisk a silent apology for if this goes wrong, Henry trotted back over to the roiling mass of ink in overalls. “What can I do, Sammy?” He stuck his axe into the floor nearby, keeping Frisk in his arm in case he needed to make a break for it.

Something was starting to smell terrible as Sammy continued vomiting ink, something beyond the familiar scent of old, wet ink. He reached out with a cautious hand, putting pressure over his shoulder, overall strap between them. No way in hell was he touching the man after seeing what happened when Frisk did it.

“I don’t _fucking_ know! Drew was the witch bastard, not-” It was bile. It was BILE. Henry looked on in shock as the smell of stomach acid mixed with the ink, the noxious scent making his eyes water. “What the hell did that son of a bitch do to me!?”

“You don’t remember?” Henry’s grip tightened on the musician’s shoulder, and he didn’t even flinch as a four fingered hand shot up and held onto him like some sort of lifeline. He wasn’t dripping so much anymore, ink turning solid as though drying onto paper. Hell, Henry could see nails! 

“Voices… Screaming… so much screaming!” The pool of ink on the ground at their feet was large enough to birth a damn Searcher by now. Purple eyes shone clearly from a face Henry knew, nose, mouth, high cheekbones… the ink on his head calmed, thick twisting lumps looking almost like Sammy’s tame curls. “Who was the religious basketcase? I’ve never been a religious man- I’ve never- What have I been doing!?”

Frisk moved in Henry’s arm, and he looked away from the ink man to see them popping one of their candies in their mouth. They looked exhausted and barely together enough to be awake, but that faded quickly as they sucked on the hard candy. They took one look at Sammy and tried to offer one to him as well, but he didn’t notice, half turned away from them and swiftly getting lost in his own head.

Henry took the candy, unwrapped it, and as soon as Sammy finished his next bout of coughing, slapped his hand over his mouth, candy inside. He heard a loud crack as he bit through the candy - _he has teeth!_ \- and the man fell back onto his ass, away from Henry’s hand. He panted and sobbed, but the retching and boiling flesh stopped immediately, as though a fight inside of him had been won.

He… he looked like Sammy. Obviously he was all abyss colored, black on black on black with violet eyes peering sightlessly from under inky lids, but… He had the illusion of curly hair, a defined face, long and skinny limbs like he’d never grown into them, and a good amount of the muscle he had, had faded away. He was even skinnier than Henry himself. 

Frisk hopped out of Henry’s arms, somehow recovered from the hit to their head already, and moved over to Sammy, seeming uncaring as they stepped in ink and bile to stand in front of him, irreparably staining their blue ballet shoes. They stared into Sammy’s dazed eyes, patting a hand against his cheek.

Looking at Sammy’s skinny body, Henry pulled down his suspenders and unbuttoned his half ruined shirt, leaving him in the white t-shirt underneath. Ink man or not, Sammy probably needed it more than he did. 

 

\------

 

When Frisk came to, they knew it couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes, but the groggy feeling in their body was familiar enough that they knew they needed some monster food. Thankfully, they still had a couple more pieces of candy in their pocket. 5 left. They… weren’t sure what they were going to do when they ran out, but they can’t gather souls with a concussion…

As soon as they caught sight of Sammy’s struggle, Frisk felt an unpleasant mixture of guilt and pity as they watched him sob, and offered up another candy to the man. With Henry’d help, he bit down on the candy, and that little bit of extra strength was enough to, Frisk assumed, power his soul through a victory against the ink. Or… not the ink, they thought, as he remained made of the stuff.

His soul had fought off something, but who knows what.

Hopping out of Henry’s cradling arm, Frisk approached Sammy, easily ignoring the smell and the liquid they stepped in, and gently pat his cheek, looking for life in those bright purple eyes. He didn’t have any pupils, Frisk noted, but it was a really pretty color! Light, and vibrant, and strong. He’d be okay, they were sure of it!

They fingered spelled his name with one hand, patting cheek with the other hand, but he didn’t snap out of his daze until Henry was draping a white shirt over his shoulders. It didn’t stain, Sammy apparently too solid for the ink to leak now. 

“Ah… Hello litt-” He flinched, looking contrite. “Child. What- how did you do…” He gestured a 4 fingered hand to himself. “How did you do this?” Frisk started finger spelling, but Sammy quickly shook his head. “That’s alright, child. My- my sister, she was deaf. I remember now…” Conflict crossed his features as he mentioned his sister, likely remember that he _didn’t_ remember for so long. 

But Frisk brightened up and, bewilderingly, blew him a kiss and shot a finger gun his way before explaining that they had put his soul back into his body, but no, it was still largely a mystery, I’m sorry. They asked him if he knew why he’d been split in two like he had been.

“My memory isn’t what it should be, but I remember making orders, and then… following my own orders. I don’t know what exactly Drew was doing to people, but… “ He growled, hands crossing to grip the shirt draped over him like a lifeline. “When I get my hands on that son of a bitch, he’s going to rue the day he ever hired me. Some ‘Creator’ he is, abandoning this place to rot like, like…” Frisk didn’t try to hear what he started muttering under his breath, very aware that it was probably something they didn’t really want to hear anyways.

But the word ‘creator’ gave them pause, remembering one detail from Henry’s story. Glad that they could now sign to someone and didn’t need to write with ink, Frisk asked, “I thought Henry was Bendy’s creator.”

“Henry? The creator?” Sammy’s hairless brown furrowed, turning his head to look at the man. “I thought you were just an animator Drew listened to occasionally.”

“I can’t be the creator, I wasn’t here when the ink machine was even built.” Henry explained, raising a brow between him and Frisk. Frisk pouted because they remembered!! Henry said so himself that he was the first to draw Bendy! Swinging their backpack around, Frisk rooted through their belongings and the remaining souls, and pulled out a little picture they picked up from the first floor.

“The Creator is supposed to be the one who made Bendy, but I’m reasonably certain that means concept art, not the live one. Not that it matters, since Drew did both.” Henry suddenly turned white as a sheet as Frisk held up the concept art of Bendy with a different smile. “... Didn’t he?” Purple eyes wide as saucers looked between Henry and the drawing.

Henry trembled. “... How long have people been telling Bendy his creator betrayed him?”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy Lawrence has a wealth of new information

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everybody's ready for some.... exposition :3c

They settled down at the top of the stairwell, far enough away that the smell was left behind. Henry sat to one side, elbows on his knees, and Sammy leaned against the opposite wall, cross legged and tugging at the slightly too short sleeves. If Henry was tall to Frisk, who sat on the top stair, back turned to them, then Sammy was a giant. He was tall and pretty, and Henry was wondering if he should keep count of how many times Frisk would try to flirt with the man.

“I’m not sure where to start, but I suppose after you left is as good a place to start as any.” He stopped tugging at the sleeves, clasping them in his lap and glaring at a spot of ink on the floor. “Everything was fine once we hired a couple artists to fill your place. Left a hard hole to fill, Henry, congrats on getting out.” He flashed a wry smile up at Henry and looked back down. “It was fine… it was even fine when he brought the Ink Machine in, no matter how frustrating it is to work with it when it floods entire floors. 

“Drew started driving the accountant crazy with his hairbrained schemes, expanding _downwards_ despite what had to be atrociously high costs. With the toy factory downstairs, came his first success with the machine. Bendy himself, in all his glory…”

“He made Bendy first?” Henry asked, bewildered. He’d always assumed everyone else was a failure leading up to Bendy. 

“Yes, I think so. However, he didn’t look or act the way he does now. It was like…” Sammy gazed down at his clasped fingers. “The difference between me now, and me mere moments ago.”

“Off model, but stable? Does that mean someone in the studio was made into Bendy as well?” It was something he had feared, but he’d never been able to figure out who in the studio could become something like Bendy. But comparing him to Sammy now, with how much his personality changed…

The idea was rejected. “No, unless Drew picked someone up off the street, no one started going missing until after Bendy showed up. And let’s be honest here, Drew’s standards are too high for that.” He sneered, thumping a fist against the floor. “Drew didn’t like what he’d created, what miracle of life-... He created a living thing, and I think he hated it because it was growing to be nothing like his cartoon, and... a lot like you. Not a funny bone in his body.” He smiled, begrudgingly amused. “In hindsight I suppose it was obvious he was tied to you more than that waste of space.”

Frisk perked up at the change of tone, turning to grin at the ink man. They winked and made a heart with their hands. He ignored them completely while Henry stifled a chuckle. His mood quickly returned to somber as he knew what he had to ask Sammy about next.

“What happened after Joey brought Bendy to life?” Henry drew his knees closer to his chest, wrapping his arms around them.

“...” There was a long pause while Sammy thought, tapping out a rhythm from the cartoon. “I didn’t realize at first, honestly I don’t think anyone did, but Drew spent a long while… trying to get rid of his creation. He was too tall, too slim, too strong, and he was far too much like you, too reasonable in the face of his ridiculous ‘pencil and a dream’ bullshit. Everyone was much more fond of him than Drew, enough to hide this creation from the word in worry. Bendy hid it, maybe thinking it was normal, or that there was a good reason for it…

“Eventually, one of the animators went missing, and Drew expanded the Studio further down. It… it took a long time to replace that animator, I don’t even remember his name, but it was obviously the first victim of Drew’s new scheme. I think he may have been taking interviewees as well, since the man had been nothing special as an artist. Susie got fired, and I think he got to her too.”

“Susie's downstairs.” Henry blurted out, forgetting for a moment that not everyone was Frisk and not everyone would take his knowledge for face value. But he’d already started… “She’s obsessed with being ‘perfect’ and she’s gone a little mental down there. Dangerous.”

“Hmm…” Sammy starred contemplatively at him, obviously suspicious, but let it go for the sake of continuing the story. Besides, Frisk was signing some basic answers already, apparently taken with the idea of making everything a fair trade. Something about magic and repeating time, but it was difficult to tell when they were only half turned towards him. Nothing he was interpreting made any sense to him, but at this rate, time travel would be the least absurd thing to happen in the last who knows how many years. “She always was a little _dangerous_. I can’t imagine what the ink has done to her.” He almost sounded enamoured at the word ‘dangerous’.

“After all the artists and Susie, I lose track. Maybe he’d taken some others I didn’t know or notice, but after Susie stopped showing up to demand her job back… Bendy started to fold to everyone like a wet napkin. He’d get upset easily, moody, flinched at everything, and I found Norman following Drew around one night after everyone went home like he held the answers to the change. Turns out he did, but I didn’t want Norman fired, so I sent him home.” Sammy glanced through the doorway, gazing at the Bendy cutout against the wall. “Perhaps my guilt turned me into that fanatic.

“Anyways, after turning Norman away a few times, and even Wally once, there was one night I fell asleep at my desk and woke up to… Bendy crawled under my desk, dripping and smelling like nail polish remover. Drew followed with a black clump of Bendy in his hand, and I knew he had to have been taking his frustration out on the cartoon.” Henry made a noise of distress, having evidently figured out where this was going. “We fought. Physically, I mean. But while it’s easy to get the upper hand against an older man with a limp, I couldn’t do much about his cane.”

A warmth as his side took Sammy’s attention and he looked away from the cutout to find Frisk leaning against his side, backpack in their lap. It was a minor comfort, but more than he’d been given since they day he was talking about. “Things get fuzzy from there. I was originally locked up with the other Lost Ones, down into the depths of the studio, but it became apparent that something about what Drew did to me was slightly different, and I gained enough independance to come up to the second floor. Having a consciousness split between my lost self and my searchers isn’t doing my memory favors.

“Before Drew locked up the machine with most of Bendy in it - there’s only so much you can so, I suppose, when you’re locking up the consciousness of all of the ink in the studio - Bendy was falling apart. I’m terrified to think of what he’s like after who knows how long locked away in that machine… Henry, how long has it been, since you left? You don’t… you don’t look 5 years my senior anymore.”

Henry swallowed thickly, carding a hand through his hair. “It’s been 30 years Sammy. 30 years, and one week on repeat far too many times. Guess it’s my turn. Brace yourself, Sammy, this is going to sound utterly insane.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna have to wait a bit for the next one. I pumped out as much as I could before I have to work on essays again.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy's going to be emotionally disoriented for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I had essays to write, and I do, but I wanted to get this scene out of the way lol

“I’ve already done this well over a hundred times. Over and over, falling further into the depths of the studio, with no one but one of the Boris’s really on my side. Time just keeps looping and the same old shit keeps happening.” Henry was obviously tired, eyes drooping in fatigue, and he spoke slowly, doing his best not to overwhelm the man who was still taking in the amount of time he’d been a monster of ink. “This is the first time Frisk has been here, though.”

“If time in looping, how were they not here before?” Sammy looked down at the child tucked into his side, but they just shrugged, not sure themself. “Is it a localized phenomenon?”

“Localized…? Like… only the studio is on loop?” The prospect scared Henry, the thought that he’d been in here for… around 3 _years_ if he did the math, being terrifying. He’d wondered but denied it when Frisk popped into the timeline, because that would mean he’d missed so much of his own kid’s life. Had Linda gotten remarried in his absence? She wasn’t the type to sit and wallow in self pity.

Henry had enough tact to not say anything about it to the man who had been stuck down here for over 30 years, but Sammy noticed nonetheless. “It’s only a theory Henry, try not to worry about it. Frisk may simply be an anomaly. I saw some of the ink smears on the walls before, but I hardly remember them now.” He poked Frisk’s shoulder, drawing their attention up to his face. “You have a similar type of magic, correct?”

Frisk nodded, grinning as they sloppily signed a brief summary of their reset powers. The start of any trial, or any moment of intense Determination, becomes a starting point from which they can begin from at any point in time. They can do it by their own will whenever they want, and it’s forced every time they die. They can’t permanen-

A four fingered hand stopped Frisk’s movements, and they looked back up to Sammy’ face to see a concerned frown and wide eyes. “Did you just say ‘every time you die’?” 

“Ah, that.” Henry leaned further into his knees, sighing as everything and every word spoken just piled up the tragedy. “Frisk has- Frisk died once already in the Studio. Bendy must have gone completely insane, seeing as he-...” Henry couldn’t say it, seeing Frisk push their little fingers under their hair. They didn’t look overly upset thought, which was… he didn’t know if that was good. “He’s hurt you before, too…”

That seemed to shake Sammy up even more. “We got along, he and I. He thought I was funny when I was angry, and my sanctuary is where he would hide when there was a stranger in the building. It felt like having another sibling.” Pain briefly crossed his face, likely remembering his sister could be 30 years older if he sees her again. “I can’t imagine him hurting me on purpose. Who else has he hurt?”

Henry grimaced, trying to think of who he _didn’t_ hurt in some way. “You, me, and Frisk, obviously. I don’t want to try counting how many times he’s killed me-” Sammy’s brow furrowed, obviously upset at the notion. “Over these loops. Susie, Allison, Tom… after today I guess my theory about Norman would be correct, so… hmm, actually, Bendy protected me from Norman.”

“Protected you?” Frisk clapped, suddenly gleeful, but Sammy was increasingly upset. Henry was aware the two had been… very strange friends. “Whyever would you need protecting from _Norman_? The man would never throw the first punch. I would know, I tried to goad him into it more than once.” Despite being turned into a cult leader by the ink, the thought of tall, quiet Norman turning hostile was taking it too far.

“Norman attacks anything he sees now. I- I don’t know why. He’s the one thing down here that’s killed me more often than Bendy.”

The ink man buried his face in his hands, groaning. “The next time I see that duplicitous shit stain, Joey Drew, I’m going to kill him with my bare fucking hands!”

Unfortunately, because Henry would love to listen to the musician cuss out his former friend, there was an interruption he should have seen coming. A sound coming from just above their heads, a bumping, dragging, wet noise from the pipes. Sammy fell silent.

Henry stared wide eyed as Frisk, who hadn't yet figured out what was happening. Perhaps they hadn’t noticed it on the way down before. “We need to go. Now. We’ll continue later.” He picked himself up off the floor, ignoring the way the muscles in his legs protested the sudden movement, offering a hand to Sammy.

Frisk hopped up, swinging their backpack back on, and bound down the stairs ahead of them, Henry’s heart in his throat knowing that the wrong timing would find Bendy in the room just beyond them. If the timeline remained steady despite the changes, they would still have a moment to get through, and maybe even get ahead.

“That’s Bendy, correct?” Sammy asked, voice faint even as he followed behind the two who knew what they were doing. 

“Got it in one.” Henry grunted, heaving his axe over his shoulder. He knew it was close to breaking, but he still needed the damn thing to get through that hallway ahead.

They caught up to Frisk in the room with the intercom, looking around curiously at the things they hadn’t had a chance to see at the first time. Sammy jogged over to the same desk, slamming a fist down on the button that would raise the shutter door to continuing forward. He reached down and grabbed Frisk’s hand, keeping them close.

Henry was already chopping through the wood barricades, and the metalic, wet bumping started up again. Sammy almost screamed when Frisk knocked their fist against a wall three times, but when he found Bendy _wasn’t_ right beside him, he gave the child a stern look. The look didn’t last long, face dropping and purple lights in his eyes contracting in fear, when the knocking was returned from the other end of the _same wall_. 

Ink begane leaking from between the boards, dripping down sluggishly. “Henry, fuck, Henry we have to hurry-” The axe broke as Henry chopped through the last board of that hall. “Is that supposed to happen!?”

“Yes, calm down!”

“How the fuck am I supposed to calm down!?”

Henry turned, stressed, as Frisk’s crushed skull ran through his mind, how he hadn’t been able to stop that last time. “Just- just… oh… oh no.” He went white as a fresh sheet of paper, looking beyond the pair. Sammy started to panic, refusing to turn, but Frisk wasn’t so shy.

They peeked behind them, seeing the ink demon in the previous room, standing next to the pole Henry was tied to when they were here before, head tilted to stare at them as they tried to get away. Frisk gripped Sammy’s hand a little tighter, but waved, like the faithful friend maker they were. It waved back with a human hand.

Bendy started to move towards them, fast despite their limp, and Henry screamed, “Run!” ushering Sammy ahead of him. His hurrying caused Frisk’s hand to slip out of the ink man’s grasp, their tiny legs unable to keep up with the long strides, and they tripped over a fallen board.

“Frisk!” It was going to happen again! Henry had failed to protect the child once more. Even if he reached Frisk first, he wouldn’t be able to get them away quick enough together. Still, he tried, knowing that he wouldn’t stay dead, and believing that a child shouldn’t deal with death if an adult could instead.

It was all unnecessary, however, as Bendy _hesitated_ in its approach when Frisk knocked on the floor. Something about Frisk made the demon stop to wring it's mismatched hands together as though thinking, and it was just long enough to get Frisk out of harm’s way. However, it wasn’t Henry who did so, and it wasn’t Sammy either, the man having stopped half way up the next corridor, farther even than Henry.

A wheel, one of the ones attached to the drain pipes, whizzed through the air, beaning the demon in the head. It staggered to the side, just far enough for someone to dart past, and they picked up Frisk and bolted past Henry, taking the child to safety. It would be stupid to stay behind, and he knew that figure, so Henry ran after them, linking hands with Sammy as he passed to make sure he didn’t get left behind.

There was no vicious banging on the door when the barricaded it behind them, so Henry figured he had a minute to figure out what the hell was going on. He watched their new company set Frisk gently on their feet, patting their head and getting a head pat in return.

“Not that I'm not grateful, but what were you doing in the Music Department, Boris?”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked if Boris had a Human Soul?

It wasn’t his Boris. As soon as those words came out of Henry’s mouth the wolf straightened up from checking on Frisk, and not only was there an uncharacteristically angry frown on that muzzle, there was a bright orange, jagged crack running down the front of his torso. This was the Boris from upstairs.

“Boris the wolf.” Sammy muttered in surprise, having expected the other toons to be as off model as Bendy. “I wonder who was used to make you…”

They looked peeved at the two men, and stomped over to the shelves against the wall, grabbing a Bendy plushie, and dunking its head in the ink pooling beside it. It smeared on the wall ‘ CARELESS’, then chucked the stuffed toy at Henry, took Frisk’s hand, and started moving on without them.

Henry suddenly felt his guilt. He hadn’t explained what would happen and rushed them, which had caused Frisk to trip. It really had been careless of him, and he’s almost caused Frisk another tragedy.

“Do you have any idea why Bendy hesitated to hurt Frisk?” He asked Sammy quietly, shuffling forward behind this new, strange Boris. 

Sammy hummed in thought, tapping his chin. “It could be any number of things, but perhaps he remembers the time loop to some degree? Or maybe it’s simply that Frisk doesn’t belong here, and Bendy is confused.”

“That didn’t make him hesitate before…”

In front of this new Boris, that can of bacon soup rolled across the floor, and the wolf tucked Frisk behind its back, picked up the can, and whipped it into the hallway it came from! A crash and a bang, the sound of something large hitting the floor, and Henry was shoving past to get to his friend around the corner.

“Boris!” Henry cried in relief at the familiar face, crouching down in front of the cowering toon huddled on the floor. “It’s okay buddy, no one’s going to hurt you. I’m sure he didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Is that another Boris?!” Was asked by the musician, drowned out by the sound of Frisk clapping excitedly from where they stood behind the upstairs wolf. More dogs! They thought, utterly gleeful, that there’s always dogs to pet in places they can use resets.

The Boris Henry knew slowly stood up and turned to face his lookalike, eyes wide and tongue lolling out of his open mouth. They stared at one another before the scarred wolf tipped an inexistant hat, knees bending almost like he was going to dance. Boris perked up fake curtseying in return, then started to laugh, wheezing like an old dog.

“Fuck.” Sammy muttered. “You can’t be who I think you are.” He buried his face in his 8 fingers, groaning. “I have a massive fucking headache, and if I’m stuck with you two, I’m going to kill someone.” Frisk started giggling with the Borises… Borii? And the two wolves scoured the area for more ink, then dipped their hands in it.

“Top of the Mornin’!” and “I’m outta here!” were scribbled on the walls, and Sammy started tugging on his hair, dreading the future.

“Wally and Shawn?” Henry looked between the two, surprise coloring his face. Wally-Boris was the perfect Boris, but he really did act more like the kindly janitor than the ignorant wolf in the cartoons. “We haven’t met before, have we, Shawn? You worked with the toys?”

Shawn turned his muzzle up at Henry, picking Frisk off the ground and continuing on to where he apparently knew Bor- Wally’s sanctuary was. “Don’t mind him, Henry.” Sammy grumbled. “Shawn’s just an asshole with an idiotic streak a mile long. The only one allowed to be less than fucking perfect is himself.”

Shawn turned and _snarled_ at Sammy, who merely glowered back. Unlike Norman, Shawn was someone Sammy had gotten physical with at least three times in the few years they knew one another. He didn’t have the passion in him to goad someone into a fight right now, however, tired and emotionally drained from the last couple hours of his life.

Still, Shawn took a threatening step forward and Sammy wondered if he would take any excuse to throw a punch and release possibly years of pent up aggression. That didn’t come to be, however, as Frisk hopped down from Shawn’s arms and shuffled over to Sammy instead, leaning against his side and beaming up at him. Shawn deflated in an instant. The musician felt smug; Bendy had liked him more too.

Really, Frisk was just feeling a tad protective of the man they’d very recently cause a death of.

Henry stepped in the middle of the broken up squabble. “We should keep moving. Can either of you speak? Or even sign?” Shawn huffed, looking at the ceiling like even asking was a waste of time, but Wally’s hand waved through the air. “Really, Wally? What made you pick it up?”

He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, looking sheepish, and glanced quickly at Sammy. He beckoned them forward, walking backwards so he could slowly finger spell on the way to the sanctuary. 

“Sammy’s… sister… looked… sad when… no one… could… talk to… her.” Sammy slowly translated, voice getting faint towards the end. “You learned to finger spell… for my sister?” Wally’s have a pride filled, wolfish smile, giving two thumbs up. “That’s very kind of you, Wally…” He sounded touched, happy that someone other than himself would care enough. Their parents sure hadn’t, though they’d creatively put chalkboards up on a few walls to avoid it.

Wally continued, telling them that if they found Susie and Norman, they knew a little sign as well, for the same reason. Norman had already been learning, in case of emergency, to show his coworkers a few universal signs. No one else wanted to put in the effort, but Sammy was still touched that the three he knew the longest had cared that much. Especially Wally, whom he’d never been all that kind to.

“Why do I get the feeling that Shawn and I are going to get left out of a lot of conversations?” Henry asked wryly, waving off Sammy’s apology before he even had a chance to do more than grimace. “It’s fine, Sammy, you’ve got a lot of catching up to do, and I’ll get my fill of talking once we reach a safe place.”

Shawn huffed, arms crossing over the orange glow in his chest. Henry pointed to him. “And we have a conversation with Shawn to have as well, seeing as the last time I saw him was on the first floor, torn open with a wrench stuck in his body.” The wolf man shivered, going tense, but relaxed with a glance to Frisk.

Frisk beamed back, exuberantly signing “The pie is made of powerful magic!” making Sammy snort, as the only one who actually completely understood it, but Henry, having seen, tasted, and felt the effects of the pie, could piece together what those gestures meant.

“Are you saying that the pie brought Boris back from the dead? Frisk, what did you feed me?” There was a laugh, nearing hysterical, under his voice. They stared up at him, not quite understanding.

“I wasn’t Dead yet when Frisk Arrived.” They saw Shawn write messily on the wall, hand trembling. He had to move to the other side of the hall they had moved into, writing too bold to fit. “The Pie was Magic” Sammy choked on a laugh again, confused as all hell.

“No pie could be good enough to bring someone from the brink of death.” He and Wally shared a confused glance, the other two adults in the room both avoiding eye contact, not sure how to explain it, or what could be explained.

Frisk’s breathy laughter filled the room, and they moved to stand right in front of Sammy. “Monster food is healing magic! Mom makes the best monster food!”

Sammy just stared. “... _Monster_ food…?”

There was still a _lot_ of explaining to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it'll never be relevant to the story, and I don't have any plans to create a situation where it's needed, I'm just gonna say here that Wally's got a Green soul ^u^
> 
> God I have so much school work to do, but I just can't stop writing.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one's happy right now, but for now they're safe to talk.

Frisk’s adoptive mother is a monster. Frisk’s best friend is a monster. Frisk’s teacher is a monster. Frisk’s everything is made up of monsters who tried to kill them, and there isn’t a single human in the kid’s life besides a couple adult men that they just met. Sammy grimaced at his own thoughts. If himself and the others even counted. It seemed obvious to him that Frisk was also hiding something, a dark and potentially dangerous secret about these friends they had.

Henry had known about the Monsters, somehow having believed the child without having even known the legend surrounding Mt. Ebott. Sammy was certain these creatures had been locked away for a reason, even if history wasn’t correct about them being hostile, and he wanted nothing more than to interrogate them about what they went through.

However, the existence of Monsters on the surface once more, and in this child’s life, wasn’t even the bare bones of their story. According to them, the monsters were slightly hostile, only because they were one key away from being free, and they needed their human soul to do it. Apparently it took very little effort to convince them not to fight, and Frisk even made friends with most of them.

What tipped Sammy off to Frisk keeping secrets, was the way Henry looked at Frisk from across Wally’s coffee table when they said that the only _real_ threat to their life had been after they subdued the king of Monsters, and a soulless creature rose to kill him. He hadn’t said anything, but the way Frisk had avoided his eye when they said this creature killed them _8 times_ said plenty. Henry knew something Frisk didn’t want to share.

But on that note, Frisk being able to reset time when they die wasn’t any surprise to him unlike the Borises. Wally had whimpered outright at the thought that they’d experienced that kind of pain, and you could see the way Shawn’s wiery arms went tense as he resisted breaking something. The lack of doubt in each person at the table was something of a miracle, but Frisk would count their blessings.

They snapped out of it when Frisk clapped, informing them that they had been on their way to visit the Monster that killed them so many times before they ended up at the Studio.

“Why?” Sammy had beaten them all to it, having played interpreter for Frisk’s strange tale. “Why would you give someone like that a second chance? Or ninth chance if we want to get technical.”

Frisk floundered, not sure how to answer. After some thought, they hopped out of their chair and popped open their backpack near the stove. The red and cyan Souls continued to pulse gently, seemingly content. Frisk did their best not to disturb the Souls as they pulled out a laminated photo they’d been intending to give Flowey, that they’d found in one of Toriel’s albums.

They handed it to Henry, who reached for it first, and Frisk pointed out each smiling person in the picture to Sammy while Henry held it for everyone to see. “Queen Toriel, King Asgore, Prince Asriel… and Chara.” Sammy translated. “But what does this have to do with what killed you? If it’s one of them, wouldn’t killing the father just make things worse?”

So, Frisk told Sammy, who told everyone else, about Asriel and Chara, how the Monster had been talked into poisoning their Human sibling, by said sibling, so they could use that Human soul to free them all. They told them how he didn’t want to, but Chara was Determined to do this for what they considered to be a better race of people than the Humans that sealed them away. They told everyone about how the humans had killed Asriel without any word from him, and that he ended up coming back to life as a soulless flower.

They story went on, and Sammy didn’t realize it until later, but Frisk had brought up their visiting Asriel in the first place solely to distract Henry from bringing up the number of deaths they’d told him before. They thought 8 deaths was reasonable for what they’d accomplished, but clearly, even one was too many to the adults around them. Sans also thought they died too much, but he had to live through the stuttering timeline, so that was understandable.

It was a good thing they didn’t count the time before their first full reset before giving Henry a number.

Besides the Dreemurr family story and fighting Flowey, Frisk’s story was pretty much the same bare bones summary of what they told Henry. They didn’t describe what any of the other Monsters looked like, because of the way people had responded to Papyrus at first, and they didn’t tell a single soul in the room that everyone but that friendly skeleton had tried to kill them at least once.

“I still don’t believe Flowey deserved another chance.” Sammy and Shawn nodded together, agreeing on something perhaps for the first time. “Murdering a child who lacks the desire to harm others is unforgivable.”

Frisk twiddled their thumbs, and got a pat on the head from Wally, who slowly spelled out that he was proud of them for taking the high road and succeeding at something so wonderful. Frisk beamed, it being exactly what they wanted to hear. 

“Okay, but what about the pie?” Sammy asked, still curious about the ‘magic pie’.

Frisk pointed at the picture again, where it sat on the table, Toriel’s smiling face bright. “Queen of Moms.” knowing they couldn’t spare their last couple candys to demonstrate, Frisk explained that Monster food is quite literally made of nurturing, loving magic. Depending on the amount skill the monster had using healing magic, the stronger the food will be. “Toriel makes the best pie in the underground.”

Next came Henry’s turn to briefly recap what he’d already told Sammy, and continue where he’d been interrupted. That, and begin explaining the time loop that started the moment he first set food within the studio.

Shawn was horrified that there were 154 other timelines where he’d been left to die on the operation table, Sammy was horrified that he’d died 2-3 times per loop, apparently immortal with continuously degrading sanity. Wally was… simply nodding along, unsurprised. He’d apparently already seen what Alice does to people, though he’d never been too close to her lair, and he’s seen what Norman does to people. Wally never expected to last even as long as he has. He pat Henry’s arm in comfort, realizing that he harbored a long history of guilt in never being able to save him.

Allison and Tom continuing to survive in the depths of the studio was perhaps the biggest surprise to Wally, who expressed that he thought they got out when the getting was good.

The amount of information Henry didn’t have, despite going through all of this so many times, seem to leave Shawn peeved. He didn't know who survived, he didn't know why this was happening, he didn't know if they could he turned back to normal, and he sure as hell didn't know how to stop the looping. Shawn he stormed out of the sanctuary, fists clenched and chest scar glowing bright. Frisk watched worriedly, but Sammy shook his head. “Don’t mind that buffoon, he’s probably looking for dolls to tear apart. Like he could do any better.” He gave a sardonic huff. “I’m going to lay down, I swear I almost drowned in my own goddamn vomit, and I need a nap. Got a bed or anything, Wally?”

The perfect Boris averted his pie cut eyes from where he was also watching Shawn leave in concern, and got up to show Sammy to the only bed.

“I can just curl up in the Miracle Station outside.” Henry sighed, coming to terms with the stiff spine he’d have after, but too tired to really care. “There’s a hammock in the room with Sammy, I figure you or Boris can use that, Frisk?” They shook their head, gesturing to the floor. They’d slept in worse places. “You sure?”

They nodded, grinning. Then, as thought struck by an important thought, they stuck their hand in the dripping ink nearby, wished on a star that they’d get some water to clean up with soon, and asked Henry using the floor, “What was on each floor again?”

Henry went on to recap what they could expect in the near future with Susie, figuring they wanted to make sure they were aware of what would happen when they left the sanctuary. Always good to be prepared.

Frisk had some planning to do, and if he knew what they were scheming, he might not have said anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all excited for Susie.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The teams are set

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so easy to figure out who my favorite character is lmao

Once everyone was asleep, Sammy on the bed, Henry in the station, Wally on the hammock, and Shawn finally asleep with a spare blanket where a strange art piece had been torn down by the wolf, Frisk got to packing.

With so many of their sweets eaten, Frisk was left with one cinna bunny, two slices of pie, 4 monster candy, and a huge sandwich and bag of chisps they were supposed to eat on the bus. A little over half of what they’d started with. They left the sandwich and cinna bunny on the table for anyone who needs to eat when they wake up.

The tutu and shoes were a bit of a waste with how familiar the attack patterns of Searchers were, so they removed the ink heavy clothes that were weighing them down, back to just shorts, sneakers, and a sweater. They found an empty can and filled it with ink, just in case they needed to leave a message, and stuffed it into a side pocket in their backpack. They didn’t want it anywhere near the two souls they were carrying with them.

Grabbing a wooden spoon, just in case someone needed some sense knocked into them, Frisk figured they were ready to go solo and do this without the adults getting in the way! They meant well, Frisk knew, but it would be like if they brought Toriel through the Underground with them! How were they supposed to save people, if someone else was fighting them!

Frisk swung their backpack on, but unfortunately, they couldn’t leave just yet. Not when, over the sound of Wally’s snoring the next room over, they could hear crying nearby. Not sobbing, or wailing, but soft sniffles and stuttered breathing. Someone must have woken up from a nightmare or something. What kind of friend would they be if they left them to their sadness?

Tiptoeing in the hopes they don’t wake anyone else, Frisk followed the quiet crying to the flooded bathroom. It was only an inch off the floor, easy to walk in, but the sloshing made every noise in the room halt, whoever it was obviously not wanting to be found. They glanced at the broken mirror, the golden words “who am I now?” a depressing view into one of Henry’s more depressed loops.

Their hair was smeared with black, their face and hands and, well, everything else too. Honestly, they were a few patches of skin and half a head of hair away from fitting right in with everyone else stuck in this place. They looked tired too, but they just shrugged that off. Their body was technically 11, it could handle one sleepless night.

A shaky exhale could be heard from the right hand bathroom stall, and Frisk slowly made their way over and cracked the door open to see Sammy staring down at them through the open door, sitting on top of the toilet tank with his knees drawn up and his hands over the bottom half of his face.

“Frisk?” He enquired cautiously, watching as they approached and sat backwards on the closed toilet bowl. They held a finger up to their lips, signaling him to be quiet, and drew up their knees to match.

“Nightmare?” Frisk signed, cautiously curious. He hesitated, but nodded. “Talking helps.” They grinned and pat one of his long legs.

“...” The man remained silent, fingers passing through the clumps of ink that functioned as his curly hair. Then he signed back, “Came to the bathroom to think about my family in peace. Saw mirror. No big deal.”

Frisk looked up at him, hoping he’d continue, but he didn’t. “Your sister?” they prompted, not sure what to think about the mirror comment.

A pause. “She would be in her mid 40’s if time is passing out there. My girlfriend would be 50 and married by now.” He almost stopped there, but Frisk’s open book expression, they had to have known it was something easy to talk to. “There’s no way our parents aren’t dead.” He sighed, reaching out to pat Frisk on the head. “My family is small, but I don’t know what my sister would do without any family support…” Sammy whispered aloud, ink tears gathering on the corners of his purple eyes once more.

Frisk held the grown man’s 4 fingered hand tight against their head, hoping to offer some amount of comfort. They let go to keep talking. “She’s gotta be fine if she’s your sister. And you can see her again soon.”

“Frisk…” Sammy sighed. “Look at me, child, even your monster friends at least look like mammals. If we are freed from this place, I doubt we will look any different, and thus, few will be able to leave.” He looked frustrated with his own pessimistic thoughts, but had no way to debunk them.

Frisk made a quick decision. “My best friend is a walking skeleton.” They confided, surprising the depressed man. “Dreemurr family is only one type of monster. Skeleton brothers. Fire bartender. Ghosts. Robots. Fish warrior.”

The last one had Sammy choking down a laugh, thinking perhaps Frisk was joking to make him feel better, but they were now rustling through their backpack and pulling out a folded, worn, ink stained photo that lacked the protection the previous one had. On it stood a motley crew with Frisk in the center, two familiar fuzzy faces, two skeletons, a lizard in a lab coat, and a _fish woman_ wearing an eyepatch. The photo was quickly tucked away again.

“I don’t want anyone thinking Monsters are… _monsters_ , before they meet any.” Frisk explained, looking anxious. “Papyrus is scary, but not when he talks.”

“Thank you, Frisk.” Sammy signed, then as an afterthought, opened his arms for a hug. They perked up, put the backpack back on, then scoot forward for the hug, the weird position leaving them wrapped up entirely as Sammy bent over. Holding Frisk, he asked, afraid of the answer, “Why do you have your backpack on?”

Frisk turned stiff as a board, pulling out of the hug, and made a shushing motion again. Then they explained as quickly as they could that Henry has been far too protective, and he’s not used to having company that is capable of changing things. That Shawn seemed like he was falling into a protective pattern too, even trying to protect them from Sammy and Henry earlier. They needed to work towards making things better, but they weren’t sure they could with that kind of company.

Sammy was silent for a long few second before sighing like the world had suddenly been put on his shoulders. He signed back, keeping silent like Frisk needed him to. “I understand. I would not want to take Shawn with me on this trip either, and Henry seems to forget that not everyone knows what will happen next. Wally would just get in the way as well.” He hooked his hands under Frisk’s arms, depositing them on their feet on the floor. “I’m coming with you, for my own sanity.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry is feeling that determination and Sammy is maybe a little less stable now that the shock is fading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finished an essay, pumped this out, back to school work lmao
> 
> Semester is ending in about 3 weeks, exams and all. Might have a few chapters between studying, but expect a good handful of updates after exams o/

When Henry woke, everything seemed about as in place as they could be outside of the sanctuary. Nothing had gotten into the Miracle Station, and nothing looked influenced by their extra numbers. His back was about as sore as expected.

The greying man knocked on the safe house door, stretching his spine which of course, after a night in a cramped space, sounded like popcorn. The door was opened quickly, and the distressed face of Wally Boris peeked through before abandoning it. Henry stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a stone in his gut.

Every cupboard was wide open, the table upturned, a bunny shaped cinnamon bun and half eaten sandwich sitting on one of the chairs - Henry sent thanks to Frisk for real food, even if it was suspiciously made of _magic_. But… where was Frisk? Did they go to Sammy over a nightmare? He wouldn’t blame them after all that’s already happened. He didn’t want to even think about taking them with him to do Alice’s chores, where they’d have to see Norman, the butcher gang, and Alice herself. He’s seriously considering leaving Frisk and the Borii here until all of that was over.

Shawn came running out from where the bedroom and bathroom were, looking just as harried and stressed as Wally was. The Boris grabbed Henry by the shoulders. “What? What’s wrong, Shawn?” He merely looked over the animator, before abandoning him and moving on, leaving the sanctuary entirely.

Wally looked on from the hallway, nervously wringing his hands. It was extremely unfortunate that Henry lacked the ability to properly communicate with either Boris. Still, he figured this Boris was at least someone who would try to answer his questions. 

“What’s going on, Wally?” He asked, refusing to let his mind come to its own conclusions. They wouldn’t. Sammy wouldn’t have allowed it anyways, so they _couldn’t have_.

Before Wally even had a chance to dip his finger into the ink, the world skipped, like a single frame on a reel was missing, and the man found himself trying not to hyperventilate in the miracle station.

A reset. Willing? Had something happened to Sammy? Or had Frisk died again!?

Henry heaved himself up and out of the tiny safe room, storming over to the heavy metal door and pounding on it. “Wally, Shawn, let me in!” Eventually it opened, and the Boris who let him in looked groggy and heavy with sleep, orange glow dim in the barely lit safehouse. They stared at one another, one peeved and the other searching. Henry felt a small glimmer of hope even as he realized Shawn didn’t remember the first morning. 

He’d gained some time with the reset. He might be able to catch up.

 

\---------

 

Having saved in the bathroom before they left, Frisk felt ready to be reckless again, knowing that they wouldn’t lose any of their friends if something happened. Sammy, true to his word, didn’t try to impede the child at all, trailing slightly behind their quick little strides. He was anxious, of course, the lights in his eyes nearly bright enough to light the way through the dark hallway they’d gone through.

Standing along in an empty room with a locked door on either side was giving him some serious anxiety on top of it all. The door ahead had been locked, and the one behind must have had some still functioning motion sensors as it closed behind them. He’d made Frisk promise to come back the way they came through the vents looking for a switch, holding it open from his end. Honestly, he wanted to stand and wait for Henry to show up and talk them out of all of this, but…

He liked being trusted and relied on. It wasn’t like him at all to prioritize that, and he just knew it had something to do with being a cult leader for years upon years, having all of the Lost Ones look to him with hope… It simultaneously felt fulfilling and utterly damning, like he was going to relapse into that maniac at any moment.

The door forward slid open, but Sammy didn’t move, consumed by his own thought spiral.

Frisk, meanwhile, was glad to have a friend along for the ride! It had been nice, in their final time going through the underground, calling Papyrus every time they got bored, but they didn’t exactly have their phone with them, and neither did they think it would work here anyways. 

But that was okay, they’d be out of here in no time at all, and no one would realize that they’d done any more than gotten lost going up the mountain… well, that wasn’t great either, but it was better than a death defying mission of liberation! They hoped Flowey didn’t get worried when they didn’t show up for their evening picnic.

Crawling back out of the vents, a little dusty but fine, they saw Sammy flinch for some reason, before gently putting the cover back. “No trouble, I hope.” He asked quietly, expression withdrawn.

Concerned, Frisk reached up and took his hand, shaking their head ‘no’, and moved on. Through the hallway, which had grates on the floor to keep it from flooding as there were numerous leaking from the ceiling, they found the entrance to what they knew was, from Henry’s narrative, the Toy Factory.

The large room had a ridiculously high ceiling, high enough that all 5 of their crew could stand on each other’s shoulders and _maybe_ touch the overhanging ink pipes. There were stuffed characters everywhere, from a fat huggable Boris, to big headed Bendys, numerous cutouts lining the walls, and at the front and center of the room, was a huge sign that read “Heavenly Toys”.

A fountain of ink fell from above the sign, out of a thick pipe running out from the wall, and overflowing a pool that looked purposely made to deal with the ink. On either side were stairs, and Frisk didn’t linger to admire the plushies, as much as they wanted to take one of them with them, or continue what they were doing upstairs and paint souls onto all of the cutouts.

At the top of the stairs, they found a toy room, two large machines used to make them on either side, an assembly line of shelves on the other end of the room. A puzzle!

Frisk released Sammy’s hand, tiptoeing about the room looking for what needed to be done. The musician, meanwhile, not instantly recognizing the room as a puzzle room, looked for a way through. There was the door behind the assembly line of shelves, as well as a desk that had a recording. It was undoubtedly Shawn’s, so Sammy wrinkled his nose at it, deciding to savor never having to hear that voice again rather than listen.

A knocking made him turn to see Frisk trying to get his attention, their cheeks puffed and pink as they asked him to get the stuffed animals out of the machine’s belts. It was a struggle to keep a straight face in response to their embarrassment, but he knew children were often sore about their height, so he merely did as he was told.

“What would you have done if you came here alone?” He asked out of curiosity. It was obvious they knew what they were doing right now, which was more than he could say.

They beamed up at him signing that they’re “a really good tree climber”.

Frisk… really would just figure this out with trial and error, wouldn’t they? Even alone. Sammy was suddenly glad he came with them and didn’t try to stop them. If Henry had really been through this so many times and still hadn’t gotten out, maybe he would just get in the way of someone like this. It was… kind of inspiring how determined they were at such a young age.

Far more inspiring than that horrific demon he’d worshipped when the ink had separated him from his soul.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bit of an intermission. You'll all have to wait to see why Frisk resets after Henry woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This shoooould hopefully better clarify the timeline.

_9 hours before Frisk departs the safehouse, 14 hours before Henry wakes_

 

Flowey hadn’t known what to think when Frisk didn’t show up on time for their picnic. Depressive thoughts had swarmed him, _did Frisk give up on him? Had Mom disallowed it?_ but he’d long learned to make his own thoughts louder than those, even if he’s never been able to make them go away. Maybe Frisk missed the bus and Toriel didn’t want them walking up the mountain during flood rains? They were supposed to be back in the Underground for an afternoon with the soulless monster, then take an overnight bus back to the city. Maybe Sans had finally gotten through to them that it was a waste of t- no that one’s a depressive thought.

Maybe Frisk came down with a last minute cold? No, neither of those made any sense, Mom was too responsible to not call the phone they forced on him and update him on the delay. Maybe Frisk missed their stop and they were just on their way now? How far was the next stop after Mt Ebott anyways? If it was too far, Frisk might have gone looking for a place to stay. How far would they have gone?

Flowey realized that theorizing like this was utterly useless. He’s been doing it for a couple of hours now, the light of the sun having passed over the entrance to the underground a good half an hour ago, hoping that they’d just show up and apologize for being late. The phone that was forced on him was right there, but hearing his mother’s voice and not feeling anything always made him want to pretend he never was someone who _should_ care about her. Frisk would show up…. Right?

Something wasn’t right. He watched the patch of golden flowers swaying in the slight breeze that always passed through the ruins, trying not to think the worst. Frisk was too determined to get caught by grubby human paws, and they knew how to Monster-fight, so it’s not like they’d be defenceless… But then, they should be here by now, right?

Vine rising out of the ground, Flowey clicked a button on his phone, looking at the time with some severe anxiety, 4:00pm, and then-

Flowey was staring up at the sky through his hole in the mountain, blinking up at the sun that was just leaving his sight. But that wasn’t right, he was just staring into the bright light of his _phone_ , not the sun. The sun had left his sight a while ago, actually.

Ice filled his leafy veins, and he raised the vine he hadn’t actually put away out of the ground once more, clicking the button on his phone. 3:30pm. Fuck. If the skeleton had noticed the slight reset, Flowey was deader than dead, what with Frisk supposed to be in his company right now. The only way to avoid that suspicion would be to confront the ketchup guzzler himself. But… that would require leaving the Underground. He hadn’t left the Underground yet, aware that the world around him would never be safe if his soulless self ever got bored.

But this was urgent. His life was at risk here, and potentially Frisk’s too.

Sucking up his distaste over seeing his mother and all the people Frisk was better off spending time with than him, Flowey sunk into the dirt, tunneling through the long roads to the city the Monsters had migrated to.

It honestly didn’t take him long to arrive, only a little after the reset originally happened, which slightly calmed his nerves when another reset didn’t immediately send him back underground. He sprouted in the small front yard of the skeleton brothers’ house, but nobody was around to see him, so he knocked hard on the wooden door with a thorny vine.

The door opened to the sight of Papyrus holding a spatula, tall and fashionless as ever, apparently having picked up human woman fashion and bought a couple extra crop tops. “FLOWEY!” He cried excitedly, throwing the door wide. “AREN’T YOU AND FRISK SUPPOSED TO BE ON A PICNIC RIGHT NOW?”

The flower flinched as his volume, glowering up at Frisk’s best friend. “Actually, I gotta talk to your brother about that, he around?” Flowey grumbled, trying to look past him.

Papyrus pressed an oven mitted hand to his jaw, humming in thought before turning and shouting for his brother upstairs. “ **SANS, COME DOWN YOU LAZY BONES, YOU HAVE A VISITOR!!** ” Flowey groaned at the volume, unheard over the shout.

After a moment of waiting, one of the bedroom doors over the banister opened, the blue hoodied, pink slippered comedian shuffling out. There was a good natured grin on his skull, expression mild and sleepy, but a flickering of blue in one of his sockets filled Flowey with dread.

“Hey, _pal_. Do you have a bone to pick with me or somethin’?”

Flowey swayed back and forth, anxious and quickly told Sans, “Frisk didn’t show up and I think something bad is happening.” A spatula fell to the floor, and the flower looked up at Papyrus’s suddenly concerned face, before deciding to ignore him. His brother can explain it to him later, like he never did before. “I dunno if you were awake for it, deadweight, but there was a reset.”

“Hey, accuse me of being a lazy bones all you want, Human magic would wake me right up, flower.” Sans cast an uneasy look to his little brother, who was wringing his hands and looking between the two of them. “Did you say stuff was about to come out of the oven, Pap? I can deal with the bone-zai plant over here.” Thought he looked reluctant, and very unimpressed with the weak joke, Papyrus hurried to the kitchen, hoping to be back to hear what was happening. “Tell me what’s going on, Flowey.”

“I waited hours for Frisk to show up, but around 4 we lost half an hour.” He said in a rush, eager to get out of this Monster’s company and never see that faint blue glow ever again. “I just came here so no one could blame me for it.” He forced a sneer, turning away.

But when he blinked, he found himself rooted in the soil, a few feet from the still-closed door to the wooden house that was so much like the one they had in Snowdin. Another reset, thought much shorter this time.

Maybe they should just go to Toriel for a search party after all.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I need to make an Alice in Wonderland "we're all mad here" reference somewhere....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be studying :D instead I'm making evil faces at the comments and writing more.

The puzzle of the toy factory was an easy solve for Frisk, Snowdin Papyrus level puzzle, even. They’d explored the room as well, finding a recording that Sammy wouldn’t let them play, and a blob of ink in the shape of the cartoon Bendy. It didn’t really do anything other than be cute, so Frisk decided to take it with them. It didn’t slip through the mesh of the second side pocket of their backpack, so they kept it there, while putting away the recording of Shawn’s.

When they finally moved on, Sammy was at Frisk’s shoulder, content to let them continue to lead. The child had wanted to take a Bendy plush with them, but they’d listened when the man reminded them that they’d be meeting Alice sooner than later, and it might piss her off. Occupying both hands with a stuffie wasn’t really an option.

The next room looked cheery, like it was designed to entertain children with a sort of live show. Little old television screens were wall mounted sporadically around the farthest wall, which had a small stage set into the wall, the words “SHE’S QUITE A GAL!” written over it on a drawn banner. Frisk slowly walked it, smiling at the Alice cut out and numerous Alice plushies lining the sides of the room. While Frisk was interested and looking forward to meeting Susie, Sammy was filled with nerves.

Would she remember him? Was there enough of Susie left in the inky abomination that is Alice _to_ remember him? They’d been close friends before Drew fired her and then stole her away. He remembered her not being quite as fond of Bendy back when he was still whole and unbroken as everyone else, and that only seemed to intensify with the ink…

Would she have held on to her feeling of hurt and blame, thinking, because of Joey Drew, that he was the reason she got fired? … It didn’t matter with Frisk here, he supposed. If something was going to go wrong, Frisk would stop him from walking through this door and joining them. They had that power.

The thought relaxed the ink man, and Sammy walked in not far behind Frisk. Not two steps into the room and his shoulders tensed again, the lights going out, and the door clicking shut behind him. Being underground, there was no other source of light for the room to borrow, making it pitch black. 

“Frisk…?” Sammy whispered into the darkness, and he felt their little hand slip into his and start swinging their arms, like this kid wasn’t nervous at all. What he’d do for that kind of security. Even knowing he’d only really remember their successes wasn’t doing a lot for him in the darkness of this locked room.

He didn’t have to wait long. “Well, if it isn’t the Prophet, Sammy Lawrence. I see the ink hasn’t done _you_ any favors.” The sound of two women talking in sync echoed through the room. A light came on over the stage and he squeezed purple his eyes shut against the sudden blaring light. “Doing better than most, though.” She sounded bitter and angry, Susie, but the voice he knew was her Alice Angel interpretation was light and airy, almost relieved to see him well.

Frisk squeezed his hand, and he squinted down at their tight, determined smile, before glancing back up to the bright stage. Standing front and center, arms crossed and tapping her foot, was the strange amalgamation of Susie Campbell and Alice Angel. “Susie?”

What parts of her face that held together grimaced at the sound of the human’s name. Half of her face was melting right off of her, hollow eye socket and skin stretching as it drooped off whatever held them together. She was short, but only for a human, over a foot shorter than Sammy, still significantly taller than Alice should be. Her dress was stained, the bow that matched Bendy’s nearly undone on her chest, and ink crawled up her stick-like arms. Demon horns curled upwards, one of the few parts of her on-model, but her halo clipped right into her skull. She had a single, pale human eye.

“I don’t know any ‘Susie’” Her human voice dominated, before they evened out again. “I’m Alice Angel! You’d do well to remember that, demon worshipper.”

Sammy almost flinched. Did he meet Susie down here before and just didn’t remember it? He had no memory of the toy factory, having traveled from the music department to the Lost One’s through the ink. He thinks that being sane again in this madness might just drive him crazy.

“What are you here for? If it wouldn’t bring that abomination right to me, I’d tear you apart for whatever is keeping you… stable…” She was distracted by a hand waving, finally noticing their company. Her voice took a hard shift into her Angel voice, gentle and accommodating as she covered the ruined side of her face with shy hand. “Hello there child! Oh heavens, what are you doing here?”

Frisk beamed at the positive tone she took with them, and they half turned to sign at both her and Sammy, so he could translate if she couldn’t understand. Sammy, knowing Susie had been fired before his sister’s studio visit, immediately translated. “They say they’re going to save everyone. Find and return every soul in the ink.”

Alice looked slightly hopeful, before Susie obviously took back over, spiteful and disappointed. “You cannot draw a soul out of the ink, I have tried and failed. I have found… _alternatives_.” Sammy nearly protested, but Frisk swinging their backpack around shut his mouth. Physical evidence would be better.

Frisk held the red Soul aloft, it’s powerful pulsing light bright in the dark room. “Jack Fain’s Soul.” They watched her as she leaned into the glass that separated them, a hungry look in her eye. “Frisk knows how to handle a Soul; they’re educated in Monster Magic.” The woman flinched at that for some reason, eyes shifting to the side.

“I will give you access to the deepest levels of this studio to bring me my soul.” She told them after a long, tense silence. “But the moment you try to climb higher than this floor… I will take _that_ Soul as a consolation prize of sorts… as well as any other Soul you’re hiding in your little bag of wonders.” Her face split into a malicious, crazed smile, her laughter bouncing off the walls as the light on her stage went out.

Under the tiny light of the red Soul they were clutching close to their chest, Frisk found Sammy and leaned against his leg, alarmed. He pressed them close by the shoulder, trying to offer some comfort while also fighting back the grief that wanted to take hold after seeing his close friend in such a state. A shutter door to their left creaked open, light pouring in.

Frisk slipped the soul back into their bag, then trotted off at a brisk pace, keeping a tight hold on their friend’s hand. As he was totted forward, Sammy shoved the grief away with one, unusually powerful thought.

Frisk would save them all. Frisk might not be a god, he was appalled to find his mind even wanted to go there, but… they certainly were a savior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for now we'll focus on Frisk and Sammy, since Henry noticing their reset was enough of a spoiler and talking about the same settings over and over would be lame lol


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joey Drew tried a lot of different things.  
> Some weren't as lucky as Sammy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exams in just a few days. Took a day off of studying and this happened lol

Down the hall from where they’re encountered Alice was a fork in the road, either side with a sign pointing them out as a demon path or an angel path. Frisk didn’t exactly have the best thoughts about either of these options, but recalling how Bendy had stopped its pursuit when they knocked on the floor - which could only mean one thing - they opted for that rather than the potential Soul stealer.

When the shutter door closed behind them, Frisk finally saw the lake of ink in the room, easily high enough to reach their thighs. There was no helping it, they thought to themselves, letting go of Sammy’s hand and hiking their backpack higher. No way were they letting the Souls touch the ink.

Before they could take one step towards the stairs down into the pool, their friend circled around in front of them and crouched, offering his back. He wiggled his fingers. “Come, child, I’m sure your shoes have enough ink inside of them.”

Giddy for the kind of emotional warmth a piggyback ride offered, Frisk hugged his inky neck and he held their knees as he stood. It wasn’t as comfy as a ride with Asgore, but Sammy’s ink had been slowly getting warmer the longer his Soul remained inside of him. They wouldn’t be surprised if the ink just slipped right off of him sometime soon. Or well, they wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t currently have eyes that glow and 4 fingers.

The man slogged through the ink, most furniture halfway submerged. It looked like a workroom or office of some sort, but it was hard to tell what with the _pulsing_ pillars of black ink connecting the floor and ceiling. In the corner, through the pillars, Sammy could see a recording sitting on an irreparably stained side table. There was no way it was Shawn’s here, so Sammy waded past the pillars so he could hand it to the child on his back to listen to later.

Frisk, hoping Sammy wouldn’t notice, reached out and touched one of the pillars. It wasn’t wet like they thought it would be, nor was it completely solid. In fact, Frisk couldn’t even touch it, as the ink parted around their hand like a monster attack with no intent. It swirled gently and Frisk, not wanting to interrupt the harmony of it, nor bring forth something they couldn’t yet handle, retracted their hand to accept the tape with the name “Joey Drew” on it. They were anxious to listen to what the man who’d caused these people pain had to say.

Surprisingly enough, the flooding didn’t extend much further than that, the single room being a few steps lower than either hall connecting it. Sammy let the child down at the top of the stairs, waiting patiently for them to start walking ahead. They beamed up at him, unendingly happy to be trusted, and pressed play on the recording. Frisk started walking, not noticing how Sammy went tense as soon as the first word the loud, charismatic voice spoke.

_"There's nothing wrong with dreaming. Wishing for the impossible is just human nature. That's how I got it started. Just a pencil and a dream. We all want everything without even having to lift a finger. They say you just have to believe. Belief can make you succeed. Belief can make you rich. Belief can make you powerful. Why with enough belief, you can even cheat death itself. Now that... is a beautiful, and positively silly thought."_

At first, Frisk couldn’t hear the person the others had described. This sounded like an optimistic businessman who believed the sky was the limit. But the word “Powerful” immediately rubbed them the wrong way, and cheating death… well, maybe Frisk had read too much fiction, but cheating death was never a good thing to bring up. Doesn’t help that he’d paused just long enough to make it clear he had plans for that. Nothing utterly damning was said, and they probably wouldn’t have noticed without being told beforehand, but… well, they’d just have to keep an eye out for more recordings from the man.

Frisk stopped at the door that stood between them and the hall and looked back at Sammy. He was standing not far behind them, hands clenched, shoulders tense, and eye lights dim, unfocused. They look back at the recording, frowning, before winding up their arm and tossing it back into the pool of ink they came from. They’d make sure no one else was around when they looked at any other Joey Drew recordings in the future; Sammy probably didn’t much like hearing the voice of the man who did this to them.

The ink man blinked at the bubbling ink where the tape sunk, choking on a shocked laugh. “Yes, Drew is rather insufferable, isn’t he?” He smiled down at Frisk, who grinned right back, proud for making the man smile. They ignored his groan when they winked and shot finger guns at him. They’d go on a friend-date with him someday, they swore it.

The next few halls were largely empty, nothing but the dripping ink and their imaginations fueling any anxiety in them, which was a considerable amount in Sammy Lawrence, as he stayed close behind Frisk, keeping a frantic eye on every bendy cutout and smattering of ink on the walls. He knew Bendy could also travel through the ink, it was only a matter of time before they came across him.

They passed through another room completely coated in ink, toys scattered across several shelves, but Frisk didn’t find anything in there, and they moved on to find another door that required some switches flipped.

“Ah, this. I believe we have to flip both switches at once, and this will eventually lead us to the elevator. Convoluted design, but it is nice to know where we are again.” He tapped a knuckle against the power box, then pointed to a nearby switch. “Would you prefer to stay here, or…” But Frisk was already going the other way with a wide smile, waving to the man. “Ever independant.”

Sammy stood against the wall, refusing to turn his back to the Bendy statue that stood at the end of the hall, and waited for the first light to go off on the box. He hoped nothing went wrong for Frisk as something _always_ goes wrong when you go off alone, but he had faith in them. He’d rush off to meet them as soon as the switch was flipped anyways.

Frisk found the switch just around the corner, not too far away. There was a poster near it at the end of the hall that featured characters they had yet to see anywhere in the studio, labeled “The Butcher Gang”. Curious, wondering if these character were also somewhere in the studio, Frisk approached it and-

Only fast reflexes saved Frisk from the wrench that ripped through the poster, swinging just in front of their face. A moaning cry came from the creature that swung, and Frisk stared at the mutilated face of their assailant. The mouth gaped wipe, unhinged and perhaps broken, and while one eye appeared completely missing, the other was _stitched shut_ in what would, in cartoons, be a comical ‘X’ shape. Further down it looked mostly intact, until they looked at the arm not holding the wrench. It was grotesque, the hand entirely missing, and inky lacerated flesh dripping around a protruding, broken bone. Lower yet, they found one of this poor creature’s legs had been replaced with a _plunger_.

It swung again, Frisk hopping away, and they quickly drew the wooden spoon like a sword from their back and challenged this ink creature to a FIGHT!

It didn’t take Frisk more than a second to realize that something was wrong. How could it, when the Soul fluttering before them was just as mutilated as the creature it was inside of. If you could even compare them. After all, Frisk had never seen anything as disgustingly abused as ⅓ of a soul.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feels like we need some violence soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I should not be writing fanfic right now.

The dripping, black and haze purple mass wasn’t instantly recognizable as a soul. It was tiny, unmoving but for the swelling of ink that ran from it in a steady stream, and unrecognizable in shape. It was more of an upside down tear shape, color so dim and faded that Frisk could barely recognise it as another purple Soul. The whole thing seemed to ooze black puss from unseen pores, bloating then releasing in waves. While the other souls had struggled against the ink, this one didn’t seem to have the strength to.

The creature groaned like it was in unfathomable pain, and when it realized it couldn’t actually approach Frisk, it attempted to throw the wrench at them. This manifested itself in an attack similar to Snowy’s, spinning towards their bright red Soul. It was easy enough to dodge, and now, Frisk and the ink creature were at a stalemate. It was their turn, and it didn’t have another wrench to throw, and no monster magic to use.

They’d have to be careful. They didn’t want a repeat of what happened with the angry Dummy, in a place where no one was capable of interrupting a FIGHT. Maybe they’d show Sammy how to FIGHT after this.

One look at how the ink was leaking from the Soul eliminated option 1. There was no way any monster candy would fit in those tiny holes, and they didn’t have enough of the stuff for that anyways. It didn’t look like there was any hope for the candy to build off of either, so monster food wasn’t exactly viable. How do you heal a broken soul that didn’t even have enough in it to fight back?

Frisk bit their lip. Their last save was back at the safehouse, they couldn’t go all the way back there and expect things to play out as perfectly safe as they had the first time. One different move could gather the attention of something that wouldn’t let them move on as easily as Alice had. Even a single misstep from Sammy could attract the demon, and that wasn’t something they could control.

If they stayed in this FIGHT too long, he would notice too, and he might come over and get himself hurt. Honestly, they only really had one option until they could save again. 

FLEE

Frisk ducked around the creature as it recovered from the disorientation of the sepia tone of the room returning, a confused noise coming out of its gaping mouth. They pushed down on the lever, tightened their grip on the wooden spoon, and swung hard at the single intact leg on the creature when it lifted the plunger to turn. Tears pricked at their eyes as it let out a groan, falling to the side.

“Frisk?” They heard Sammy shout, closer than he should be. Sending a heartfelt, silent apology to the creature they’d knocked over, Frisk ran around the corner, grabbed Sammy’s hand, and started guiding him forward through the newly opened door. Through the new room, out a hallway that looked forcefully made, broken through walls on either end, and onto a landing overseeing a large room with the elevator at the bottom.

“Frisk, what happened? Did the demon show his face?” They shook their head, dragging Sammy to the stairs as a more sedate pace when it became obvious the creature wasn’t following them. 

Pressing the button to call the elevator, Frisk explained how they’d been attacked by something they don’t remember Henry mentioning, and that they couldn’t quite figure out what to do about it yet. That it was in a much worse shape than Sammy was.

“Can you not do what you did for any previous Soul?” They told him it was too unstable, torn apart, and he cursed under his breath. “What the fuck did you do to everyone, Drew?” It was becoming obvious that the twisted man had tried many different things with his human sacrifices, and Sammy dreaded thinking that maybe some of his coworkers Souls may be long gone in those experiments.

The elevator doors slid open, and Frisk stepped on, hand on their chin in thought. They were certain they could think of something, and if they couldn’t, Alphys probably could! They’d just have to find Alice’s Soul, return what they have, and go get help. If only they could figure out where these Souls needed to go. 

Well, there was one more named body roaming this place that they were aware of, and they’d already been planning to go there first. Floor 14. They nodded to themselves, settling their resolve. Henry said he was volatile and angry, anyone in his light facing the brunt of his uncharacteristic violence. They let their Determination fill them and Saved.

They took a deep breath, hit the button, and turned to Sammy. It was only fair they warned him. While they were confident they could do this, they knew it wouldn’t work on the first try. They might not even be able to find what they needed to save Norman on the same floor as him and need to head elsewhere the next run.

“ _Going to save Norman first._ ” They told him, eyes focused on their own hands. They were trusting Sammy, but they also needed Sammy to know that if things went south, he could turn tail and nothing bad would happen for it. “ _I just saved, so don’t be scared, okay Sammy? I won’t move on without you, but I’m going to be a little reckless now._ ”

The man huffed a small laugh patting the top of their head. “I believe in you, child. Is this our first run with Norman?” They nodded, and he nodded right back. “Alright, going in blind then. I will proceed with utmost caution.” Anxiety buzzed through Sammy’s bones, but right alongside it was excitement. What would a reset be like, he wondered. One that he was fully aware of and ready for. Would he have some amount of recollection? Would it be there, just out of his reach, like half of his memories as the Prophet? He tried to ignore how he’d obviously already decided they were going to die this time.

The intercom crackled to life, Susie’s amused voice coming through. “Down to the 14th floor right off the bad, hmm? Eager to see your little friend, Lawrence? Do say hello for me! Why, I haven’t seen the darling since the early days when he… well, I don’t want to ruin the surprise… You’ll see just what he’s capable of on you own, I’m sure. And while you’re down there, maybe one of you could be a doll and collect me a few ink hearts.” It wasn’t a suggestion.

The intercom clicked and there was silence but for the ancient elevator, struggling to stay alive. Then, Frisk snorted defiantly, loudly, and cross their arms. Sammy just grumbled, peeved at being ordered around like he didn’t have better things to do. “Does anyone here tell that woman “no” anymore? What’s she going to do, sick the ink demon on us?”

Frisk looked vaguely discomforted at the idea, but chose to sign nothing. For all they knew, she had a way to do just that


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will that poor man ever be okay? Probably not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tomorrow exam is last exam :3c maybe another couple updates before work on the weekend!

Level 14 was almost entirely flooded. The raised platform the elevator landing was on stood as an island in the middle of an ink sea, pillars of that living liquid similar to the “demon path” room, and machinery covering the walls. This first room was enormous, ceiling higher than anywhere else in the studio thus far and walls wide enough to shove the entire music department inside.

Looking over the railing, Frisk found themselves staring through a high arch that framed a huge statue of Bendy, standing between two hallways entrances. The entire setting was poorly maintained, wood bloated with ink and warping, vent grills hanging on by the strength of the few remaining nails.

“What the hell is going on down here…?” They turned to see Sammy had gone straight for the stairs, he he’d stopped before going down. He had a hand clasped over the lower half of his face, eyes wide. “Do brace yourself before moving on, Frisk, this place is going to be… very unpleasant. _I didn’t think ‘ink hearts’ would mean real hearts!_ ” He exhaled heavily through his nose and Frisk moved closer, curious.

Sitting motionless by the first step was a strange little creature with three mouths, one cartoon eye, and one frighteningly human eye. It looked like it might have been cute, once upon a time, maybe in the original designs, what with the shape of its head and large ears. The mouth in front of its face, where a mouth _should_ be, was stitched shut, and the cartoon eye that the human one was lodged into was forced open by metal hooks on either end. The lipless mouth atop its head was gaping open, all teeth, and the one on its stomach was framed wide open, toothless. They weren’t even sure that one WAS a mouth, and not some grotesque wound forced apart.

In its hand sat what looked like a human heart that once possibly pumped ink, just as still and dead as what was holding it. Without anything to carry that in, because like hell they were putting an ink organ with the Souls, Frisk was just as reluctant to take it with them as Sammy. A quick FIGHT check told them that there was no soul inside what was left of this creature, thus is was either soulless, or safe to pass. 

Well, they could just bring any hearts they find here and then figure things out from there.

While Frisk searched for life in the ink creature, sure they weren’t going to get upset over the sight of it, Sammy started creeping down the stairs. Better to scout out the foot high ink before he carried them through it, he would rather not drop them in surprise.

He took one step into the ink and stopped, hearing a distant, graceless sloshing further ahead. Norman. Sammy was filled with the urge to go to his friend, the gentle giant of a man he hadn’t seen in what Henry said was potentially _decades_. He knew he shouldn’t, that the chances of him not getting attacked were infinitesimally small, but…

“Frisk, would it be alright if I were to-

Goosebumps rose and a violent shiver rolled up Sammy’s spine as an unholy screech reverberated through the gigantic room, an angry ‘ ** _REEEEE-_** ’ that sounded like a bad remix of a horrible record scratch, tv static, and a terrified scream. Sammy immediately stepped back out of the ink and climbed up to Frisk, who was leaning against the rail to see if they could spot the source of the sound.

From one of the halls beside the Bendy statue, a bright light shone through, lighting the way through. The creature that came through, Norman, was so tall he only fit through the frame due to bent knees and bad posture. He walked like someone whose limbs were too long for their body, and just looking at him would confirm that in an instant, thin legs forcing their way through the ink and long arms swinging at his sides. Like Sammy, Norman was entirely made up of ink, but for a few key features… such as his _head_. 

While Henry had told them about the projector, there was something especially jarring about seeing how that nearly human neck disappeared into the contraption, like there was still a head, compressed into that too narrow space. Long cords and wires protruded from the back, connecting to a speaker that made up most of his chest. Norman looked more machine than man, maybe even more machine than ink.

Lowering himself to one knee, Sammy watched that light whip around, likely looking for the source of his raised voice, speaking to Frisk. Thankfully, Norman didn’t look up, and didn’t see them, moving on back into the halls, but Sammy’s shivering didn’t stop.

Susie was one thing. She was always bold and dangerous, and being forced to share brainspace with all the ink and Alice, and whatever else Drew had done to her… well, she was still kind of Susie. She was still the embodiment of ‘fake it til you make it’ with a dash of something threatening.

Norman, though… Norman had been gentle and quiet. He never raised his voice unless it was the get in the middle of Sammy and Shawn’s fights, or to call for assistance when someone needed help. He was never baited into any fights, he never raised a fuss, he was a _good guy_. And now he was reduced to this seemingly brainless predator, skulking through the halls like some kind of movie monster. Nothing about that thing down in the muck was Norman.

Frisk watched Sammy fold like a wet napkin to his grief, unsure what to do. They pat his knee and he didn’t respond, nor did he even glance their way with a head pat. He didn’t make a sound, probably scared into silence by the sound the Projectionist made. They knew that this was absolutely a reasonable response to what was happening around him, as the only one in this place who’d been completely taken by the ink, now coming to terms with his new reality. This was his friend. How would Frisk feel if Papyrus suddenly turned into a killing machine?

… they didn’t want to think about that. It wouldn’t ever happen. Frisk would absolutely understand where Sammy’s grief was coming from if this was his closest friend in the studio.

Suddenly Frisk was so very glad they’d taken with them one large item that could have been a disastrous waste of space. Opening their backpack, Frisk very carefully pulled up the cloth that sat at the very bottom, which was supposed to function as an extra buffer against the ink reaching the food and Souls. Thankfully it wasn’t too stained, and they snapped the fabric out like a sheet before laying the picnic blanket over Sammy’s shoulders.

Frisk wrote ‘scouting’ on the floor next to the man with the ink dripping off of his boots, the ink, and left him to his misery, now knowing what else they could do for him in a place as dangerous as this. They’d scout out the ground floor and come back before he could even have a chance to worry!

Taking a cautious step into the ink at the bottom of the stair, Frisk was relieved to find it at knee height. Too high to run in, but they could walk through this okay. It was time to survey the area!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you miss Henry, no worries, we get back to him again soon c:


End file.
